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SIR WALTER SCOTT, Bart. 


WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY ^ 

WILBUR LUCIUS CROSS, Ph.D, 

PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH IN VALE UNIVERSITY 


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CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS 
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I 



SIR WALTER SCOTT 














CONTENTS 


INTRODUCTION 

I. Life and Works ...» 
II. The Historical Novel 
HI. IVANHOE ..... 

IV. Methods of Study 

V. IVANHOE AS AN ENTRANCE TO THE 
OF THE English Novel . 


FAGS 

. iii 

. . xvii 

. . xxiv 

. . xxxi 

Study 

xxxvii 


VI. Program of Study for the Indiana 
f Reading Circle— Topics for Discus- 
sion xli 


VII. Principal Characters . . . xlvi 


IVANHOE 

Notes to Ivanhoe 481 

Glossary 495 



INTRODUCTION 


I 

life and works 

The Scott Clan. — Sir Walter Scott was born in 
Edinburgh, Scotland, on August 15, 1771, a few 
weeks after the death of the poet Gray, with whom 
the old order passes into the new. Two of his great 
contemporaries were born about the same time, 
Wordsworth in 1770, and Coleridge in 1772; and 
some years later the remarkable group of writers 
with whom Scott’s name is associated, was com- 
pleted by the birth of Byron, Shelley, and Keats, 
the youngest of them all. Though like them in his 
reactionary attitude toward the literature of the 
immediate past, Scott had the distinction of be- 
longing to “a great, riding, sporting, and fighting 
clan,” described in the Lay of the Last Minstrel, 
Among his ancestors was Auld Watt of Harden, 
who with his moss-troopers made many a raid 
along the Border and over into Cumberland, carry- 
ing away cattle and whatever else he could lay 
hold of. This love of daring and brutal adventure 
was handed down from generation to generation; 
and as time went on, there was added to it a fierce 
iii 


iv 


INTEODUCTION 


Jacobite spirit. Sir Walter’s great-grandfather, for 
example, was known throughout Teviotdale as 
Bear die, because he wore an immense beard ‘‘un- 
blemished by razor or scissors, in token of his re- 
gret for the banished dynasty of Stuart.” But by 
the middle of the eighteenth century the clan had 
quieted down; and Sir Walter’s father settled in 
Edinburgh as a lawyer, or, in technical phrase, as 
“a writer to the signet.” He is the original of 
Saunders Fairford, the trim and punctual lawyer 
sympathetically sketched in Redgauntlet. With 
Sir Walter Scott the passion of his clan for wild 
adventure was revived, but it had undergone a sea 
change. His “raids,” as he loved to call them, 
along the Border, were but excursions for scraps of 
minstrelsy ; and the daring exploits and fierce en- 
counters which were a part of the real life of his 
ancestors, he was satisfied to depict in the imagi- 
nary scenes of the Waverley novels. 

Education. — As was most fitting for a member of 
his clan, Scott passed his earliest years in the coun- 
try, especially with his grandfather at Sandy- 
Knowe, near some very picturesque crags, among 
which was situated the ruined tower of Smailholm, 
afterward described in the ballad called The Eve of 
St. John. Here he imbibed the Jacobite prejudices 
of the Scotts, and learned from his grandmother the 
old tales of the Scottish Border which he was to 
turn to good use in poem and romance. Keturning 
to his father’s house in 1778, he was sent to school. 


INTKODUCTION 


V 


and five years later he began attending classes at 
the college in his native city. For the required 
courses of study he cared very little. Of Greek he 
barely learned the alphabet, and of Latin he hardly 
got beyond the rudiments. Homer and Vergil at- 
tracted him somevrhat: that was all. Under these 
circumstances he naturally withdrew from college 
without a degree. He now studied law with his 
father, took some of the lectures on law at the 
University of Edinburgh, and was admitted to the 
bar in 1792. 

Reading. — Scott’s schooling seems rather unim- 
portant. The main thing to be noticed about it is a 
dislike of the classics. His tastes ran in other lines, 
and he educated himself. At this time the atten- 
tion of scholars and men of letters was being turned 
away from Greece and Rome to the literatures of 
modern Europe. Scott felt the impulse strongly. 
Allowed to roam at will as a boy through a circu- 
lating library at Edinburgh, he read, to quote his 
own words, ‘‘all the romances, old plays, and epic 
poetry in that formidable collection”; and when 
sated with the lighter forms of literature, he went 
through all the “histories, memoirs, voyages, and 
travels,” which were almost equally marvellous. 
He also read Shakespeare and Spenser, committing 
to memory long passages, learned Italian for the 
sake of Tasso and Ariosto, studied German, and in 
a few years translated Burger’s Lenore and Goethe's 
Ootz von BerlicMngen. Toward this great ro- 


vi INTKODUCTION 

mantic seemed to move all the newer tendencies in 
literature. 

The Law and Marriage.— As has been mentioned, 
Scott was duly admitted to the bar. He took some 
interest in his profession, forming several life-long 
friendships among his colleagues, and was measur- 
ably successful, though he saw the impossibility of 
high preferments. This could not content him. 
Perhaps to the neglect of the law, he gave way to 
the spirit of adventure inherent in his race. He 
frequently made prolonged tours into the High- 
lands, where he listened to the stories of an old 
Jacobite who had been out both in 1745 and 1715. 
He thought — so he told Washington Irving — that he 
would die unless he could see the heather at least 
once a year. On seven successive years he took 
horseback rides through Liddesdale, collecting old 
ballads and enjoying the talk and hospitality of 
“ the rough and jolly ” farmers. In 1797, he visited 
the Cumberland lakes, where he fell in love with 
the daughter of a French refugee, whom he married 
in December of the same year. To his moderate 
income, the marriage added an annuity of £500. In 
1799 he was appointed sheriff-depute of Selkirk- 
shire at a salary of £300 ; and in 1806, he became 
clerk of the quarter-session, a post which eventually 
brought him an additional £1300 a year. Having 
now obtained a respectable income, he took up lit- 
erature in earnest, toward which he had for some 
time been drifting. But that Scott was a lawyer 


INTEODUCTION 


vii 

before becoming a man of letters, it is wortli while 
to notice. To the end of his career, he was fond of 
legal phrases ; his plots frequently turn upon a nice 
point in law; and some of his most famous charac- 
ters are portraits, of course with variations, of men 
whom he met in the practice of his profession ; such, 
for example, as Paulus Pleydell in Guy Mannering. 

The Ballad. — For some time literary men had 
been collecting early English ballads, and writing 
imitations of them. The movement was initiated 
by Bishop Percy, who published, in 1765, Religues 
of Ancient English Poetry. Percy’s volumes fell 
into Scott’s hands when he was only thirteen years 
old, and he was simply entranced by them. Not 
to mention some earlier work, Scott contributed 
several poems to Matthew Gregory Lewis’s Tales 
of Wonder (1801), including the wild ballads of 
Glenfinlas and The Em of St. John. Then fol- 
lowed a treasure-trove of ballads under the title of 
Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border (3 vols., 1802-3), 
most of which Scott had discovered in his ram- 
bles through Liddesdale, a district rich in popular 
songs. 

The Metrical Romance. — Beautiful as are many 
of these ballads, Scott was dissatisfied with them, 
for their scope was too narrow for the full develop- 
ment of a tale. From them he passed easily to the 
metrical romance, which is but the ballad in a less 
monotonous metre and on a larger scale. The Lay 


INTKODUCTION 


viii 

of the Last Minstrel appeared early in 1805. Its 
success was so brilliant that Scott no longer had 
any doubts as to his career. JN'ot only was it the 
poem for everybody then to read, but it has retained 
a place in popular estimation. Probably nothing 
of Scott’s is better known than the view of fair 
Melrose by moonlight, and the intensely patriotic 
lyric to his native land, beginning ‘‘Breathes there 
a man with soul so dead.” The Lay was succeeded 
by Marmion (1808), a patriotic romance culminat- 
ing in the defeat of the Scots at P’lodden. Every- 
body knows, or should know, by heart the last 
words of Marmion. Then came the beautiful Lady 
of the Late (1810), which has sent thousands of 
tourists into the Highlands. There were other 
verse tales in the same style, as BoTcehy^ The Bridals 
of Triermain^ and The Lord of the Isles, of which 
the last has as its theme the exploits of Robert 
Bruce. Notwithstanding many fine passages, none 
of these later poems gained the popularity of the 
earlier ones. The public had become sated. 

Waverley. — Indeed, Scott himself felt that the 
field of the metrical romance had been fully ex- 
ploited. As a poet there were no further laurels 
for him. Why not, he seems to say to himself, cut 
free from the trammels of verse and treat similar 
themes in the unconstrained freedom of prose? 
The thought had come to him as early as 1805. In 
that year he wrote a few chapters of a prose ro- 
mance dealing with the uprising of the Highlanders 


INTBODUCTION 


ix 


in 1745 for Prince Charles, the second pretender, to 
be called Waverley^ and he sketched the general 
outline of the plot. The manuscript was shown to 
a near friend, who discouraged him from complet- 
ing the story. For many years it lay hidden away, 
apparently lost, in an old writing-desk which had 
been consigned to the garret. While searching for 
fishing-tackle, Scott discovered the long-lost sheets, 
and immediately began work upon them. Thrown 
aside for a second time, the manuscript was finally 
taken up in earnest with the result that the last 
two volumes were completed in three weeks. Of 
this stage in the composition, Lockhart, the son-in- 
law and biographer of Scott, tells a famous story. 
Passing through Edinburgh in June, 1814, Lockhart 
was entertained with a party of young men at the 
house of a friend near the one where Scott was at 
work on Waverley. After dining, they retired to 
the library with a large window looking toward 
Scott. Lockhart goes on to say : 

‘‘I observed that a shade had come over the as° 
pect of my friend, who happened to be placed im- 
mediately opposite to myself, and said something 
that intimated a fear of his being unwell. ‘No,’ 
said he, ‘ I shall be well enough presently, if you 
will only let me sit where you are, and take my 
chair ; for there is a confounded hand in sight of 
me here, which has often bothered me before, and 
now it won’t let me fill my glass with a good will.’ 
I rose to change places with him accordingly, and 
he pointed out to me this hand, which, like the 


X 


INTKODUCTION 


writing on Belshazzar’ s wall, disturbed his hour of 
hilarity. ‘Since we sat down,’ he said, ‘I have 
been watching it — it fascinates my eye — it never 
stops — page after page is finished and thrown on 
that heap of MS., and still it goes on unwearied— 
and so it will be till candles are brought in, and 
God knows how long after that. It is the same 
every night. I can’t stand the sight of it when I 
am not at my books.’ ‘Some stupid, dogged, en- 
grossing clerk, probably,’ exclaimed myself or 
some other giddy youth in our society. ‘No, 
boys,’ said our host, ‘ I well know what hand it is 
— ’tis Walter Scott’s.’ ” 

Wamrley made its appearance on July 7, 1814, 
and went into its fifth edition in the following Jan- 
uary. Its publication is one of the most significant 
incidents in the history of English fiction. Except 
for the stories of Madame D’Arblay and Maria 
Edgeworth, the condition of the novel was then 
deplorable. Lord Erskine, one of Scott’s friends, 
stated the prevailing taste correctly in a letter to 
the author : “Your manner of narrating is so dif- 
ferent from the slipshod sauntering verbiage of 
common novels, and from the stiff, precise, and 
prim sententiousness of some of our female moral- 
ists, that I think it can’t fail to strike anybody who 
knows what style means ; but, amongst the gentle 
class, who swallow every blue-backed book in a cir- 
culating library for the sake of the story, I should 
fear half the knowledge of nature it contains, and 
all the real humor, may be thrown away.” Indeed 


INTEODUCTION 


XI 


Wamrley redeemed the whole class of writing to 
which it belonged. And at length, as a public rec- 
ognition of his talents, Scott was given a baronetcy 
— an honor which had never before been conferred 
upon a novelist. As we are to describe by them- 
selves the wonderful romances that followed, they 
need no more than passing allusion here. When 
completed, the series, including tales, numbered 
above thirty. Scott began with Scotland, which 
he knew to the core, crossed the border with Ivan- 
Tioe^ then the Channel to France with Quentin Dur- 
ward^ and finally passed to the East, to the camps 
of the Crusaders. These novels, to be sure, did not 
enjoy immediate sales in the hundred thousands, as 
has been the case with some novels of to-day, for 
the reading public was then comparatively small, 
and Scott’s publisher knew nothing of modern 
methods of advertising. But they went every- 
where among the public as then constituted. They 
were bought, begged for, and stolen. We have 
to-day no conception of the wonder with which 
Scott’s achievement was viewed as he proceeded 
from country to country and from one epoch to 
another. 

Anonymity* — Lockhart’s friend who was dis- 
turbed by that “ confounded hand ” at the window 
opposite, had no notion that Scott, the poet who 
had declined the English laureateship, was writing 
a novel. On no volume of the Waverley series did 
Scott’s name appear. One novel followed another, 


xii 


INTRODUCTION 


commonly as ‘‘by the author of Waverley.” The 
secret of the authorship was indeed confided to a 
few friends, but it was kept from the general 
public. Many critics and men of letters of course 
had no doubt respecting the source whence the 
Waverleys came, for Walter Scott was the one man 
living who could write them. As to why Scott 
wore the mask of anonymity, there have been many 
speculations. To begin with, he felt it would not 
be quite dignified for him to write novels. Again, 
he was only experimenting in a new field, and 
wished to provide a way of retreat, in case he 
should not be successful. Then, too, he loved 
mystery for its own sake. This characteristic 
accounts for his preserving the disguise so long. 
At a public dinner in Edinburgh on February 28, 
1827, he acknowledged that he was the sole author 
of the Waverley novels, by permitting Lord Mead- 
owbank to toast him as “ the mighty magician who 
has rolled back the curregl of time, and conjured 
up before our living sensed* the men and the man- 
ners of days which have long passed away.’’ 

Abbotsford. — The house where Scott completed 
Wamrley was 'No, 39 Castle Street, Edinburgh, and 
it remained his town residence for many years. 
But he spent his summers in the country : first in a 
trim cottage with a pretty garden at Lasswade on 
the Esk, amid whose “delicious solitudes” were 
composed the early ballads ; and then in the farm- 
house of Ashestiel on the Tweed, where, under the 


INTEODUCTION 


xiii 

inspiration of romantic scenes and traditions, was 
produced the greater part of the Lay and Mar- 
mion. In 1811, he purchased a farm farther down 
the Tweed, which he called Abbotsford, as it had 
once formed a part of the rich lands of Melrose 
Abbey. To the original estate were added, as time 
went on, adjoining farms ; trees were planted ; the 
old house was pulled down, and a villa built in its 
place, which, by degrees, grew into a considerable 
castle. Here Scott lived a brilliant life, writing 
only in the morning, and receiving, after his work 
was done, hosts of friends, among whom were the 
most distinguished men of his time. 

Loss of Fortune. — Scott’s annual income, which 
probably fell little short of £15,000, would have 
been amply sufficient for this mode of life, but for 
his reckless purchase of land at exorbitant prices, 
that he might extend his domain to the amplitude 
of a mediseval barony. In addition to this dis- 
astrous passion, he had also become involved in a 
business for which he was in no wise adapted. As 
early as 1805, he entered into secret partnership 
with James Ballantyne, an Edinburgh printer and 
publisher ; and four years later J ohn Ballantyne, a 
younger brother of his partner, was also taken into 
the firm. The Ballantynes were inefficient; and 
Scott, out of the kindness of his heart, loaded them 
down with books of his antiquarian friends, which, 
whatever may have been their merit, were certainly 
unsalable. When, as a result of poor management. 


xiv 


INTRODUCTION 


the firm was on the verge of bankruptcy, it was 
helped out by the London house of Constable and 
Company. But new obligations were thereby con- 
tracted, and when in 1825, a year of financial stress, 
Constable went down, the Ballantynes were in- 
volved in the ruin. Early in the next year Scott 
as a partner found himself liable to the extent of 
nearly £130,000. 

Scott in Adversity.— In these darkest days which 
so suddenly put an end to a long period of pros- 
perity, Scott’ s character shone sublime. He might 
possibly have shifted the burden upon others ; he 
certainly might have received the aid of friends or 
have gone into bankruptcy. All these ways of 
escape were spurned by his high sense of honor. In 
memorable words he writes in his journal just after 
the crash : 

If I am hard pressed, and measures used against 
me, I must use all means of legal defence, and sub- 
scribe myself bankrupt in a petition for sequestra- 
tion. It is the course I would have advised a client 
to take, and would have the effect of saving my 
land, which is secured by my son’s contract of mar- 
riage. I might save my library, etc., by assistance 
of friends, and bid my creditors defiance. But for 
this I would, in a court of honor, deserve to lose 
my spurs. No, if they permit me, I will be their 
vassal for life, and dig in the mine of my imagina- 
tion to find diamonds (or what may sell for such) to 
make good my engagements, not to enrich myself.” 


INTRODUCTION 


XV 


Of this pitiable vassalage to bis creditors, a Jour- 
nal which he was now keeping is the record. With 
slight interruption he went on at his usual pace with 
Woodstock^ which he was then writing, and after- 
ward produced three other novels, several tales, a 
life of Napoleon, and a history of Scotland for chil- 
dren. All this and other work was accomplished 
under circumstances almost tragic. Feeling that 
his time belonged to others, he forewent much of his 
usual exercise, with the result that insomnia super- 
vened. ‘‘I hope,” he writes in a passage of Dan- 
tesque intensity, “I hope to sleep better to-night. 
If I do not, I shall get ill, and then I cannot keep 
my engagements. Is it not odd ? I can command 
my eyes to be awake when toil and weariness sit on 
my eyelids, but to draw the curtain of oblivion is 
beyond my power.” And when his eyes begin to 
fail him, so that he can hardly see by candle-light, 
he still plods on, observing, with grim humor : 
“ When I am quite blind good nigJit to you, as the 
one-eyed fellow said when a tennis ball knocked 
out his remaining luminary.” In the midst of these 
labors Lady Scott died ; and Abbotsford was never 
the same to him after that. ‘‘ When I contrast 
what the place now is, with what it has been not 
long since,” he writes, “I think my heart will 
break.” But Scott’s journal is not all in this tone. 
With a stern stoicism, he rises above his calamities, 
quoting, in his hope of better and happier years, the 
words of Cervantes : “ Patience, cousin, and shuffle 
the cards.” 


XVI 


INTEODUCTION 


Death. — There could be but one issue to toil like 
this. In 1830, Scott was stricken with a paralytic 
shock, from which he recovered sufficiently to write 
one more novel and the fragment of another. In 
the fall of the next year he made a voyage to the 
Mediterranean in search of health. On his way 
home, he intended to visit Goethe at Weimar, but 
hearing of the great German’s death, he hastened 
to England. From London to Edinburgh he was 
brought by boat in a half -conscious state. And in- 
deed he showed few signs of waking till the Eildon 
Hills rolled into view and he caught glimpses of the 
towers of Abbotsford. Then he awoke and shouted 
with delight. A few weeks later he died, on Sep- 
tember 21, 1832. His last words, which were ad- 
dressed to Lockhart, are a summary of his own un- 
blemished life : ‘‘ My dear, be a good man — be 
virtuous — be religious — be a good man.” Scott 
was buried in the ruins of Dryburgh Abbey, one of 
the loveliest spots in Scotland. Before his death 
he had succeeded in paying off half of his debts, 
and by the subsequent sale of copyrights, his credi- 
tors were satisfied to the last farthing. 


II 


raE HISTORICAL HOVEL 

Definition. — The ordinary novel is supposed to be 
based upon incidents that have been directly ob- 
served by the author, and these incidents, ’whatever 
manoeuvres there may be for the purposes of art, 
are treated in harmony with the manners, scenes, 
and men and women of to-day. Such were the 
novels of Dickens and Thackeray in their time ; and 
such now are the novels of Howells, James, Wister, 
and scores of other writers. The historical novel is 
somewhat different. Its theme is derived from his- 
tory, legend, or fable ; and the aim is to make the 
manners, scenes, characters, and even costume co- 
here in the time and place selected. If one thinks 
about it a moment, he will see that the historical 
novel is essentially the novel of manners pushed 
back to an earlier time. 

The Historical Novel before Scott. — To give the 
novel of manners an historical setting seems a sim- 
ple thing to do, but no one really knew how to do 
it before Scott. Of course, I do not mean to say 
that history had not found its way into fiction very 
much earlier. It was indeed employed by the 
Egyptians, the Greeks, and the Homans. And in 

xyii 


xviii INTRODUCTION 

the France of the seventeenth century there was a 
whole school of historical romancers. But none of 
these writers had any well-defined conception of the 
past as distinguished from the present. In the 
main they took from books some striking situation, 
to which they gave a modern treatment. There 
was slight endeavor to depict manners and customs 
otherwise than as everyone living might observe 
them. Even Shakespeare, in his great historical 
pieces, managed his material in this way. His his- 
torical characters, like Caesar, Brutus, and Antony, 
so far as they are of time and place, belong to Eliza- 
bethan England. They are not Romans. They are 
Englishmen. To use a current phrase, there is no 
“local color,” except in an incidental way. Or to 
put the statement in another form, Shakespeare 
and all the rest naively brought the past into the 
present. There is another art — I do not say that it 
is a higher art, — which is to depict, so far as pos- 
sible, the past as the past. 

To meet with any permanent success in this en- 
deavor, is needed a vivid historical sense, to say 
nothing of the demands made upon the imagination. 
That historical sense was possessed by no modern 
till well on in the eighteenth century, when the 
first of our real histories *)egan to be written. Un- 
der the impulse of this new awakening, reflected in 
the ballads which early stirred Scott to enthusiasm, 
there were many attempts at the historical romance. 
They are interesting to the scholar as the beginning 
of something new ; but no writer succeeded well 


INTRODUCTION xix 

enough" in his purpose to be now remembered by 
the reading public. 

Scott’s Equipment. — As must be evident from 
our sketch, Scott was fully equipped for organizing 
the historical novel as it came to him in these faint 
beginnings. An anecdote once heard he always 
remembered. Story-telling, which he practised as 
a boy in his rambles with a school-friend over Ar- 
thur’s Seat and Salisbury Crags, was as easy to 
him as moving from cliff to cliff or any function of 
the body. From the very beginning of his career, he 
kept fully abreast with antiquarian research, and 
on his own account collected the minstrelsy of the 
Scottish Border. Thus, saturated with national 
legend and history, taken not so much from books 
as by word of mouth, he also made inroads into 
English history, editing, among other works, the im- 
mense collection of papers left by Lord Somers, 
who bore the main hand in framing the Declaration 
of Rights. No man then living — it is not too much 
to say — possessed so full a knowledge of history as 
Scott when he wrote Wa'^erley. 

Scott’s First Type of Novel. — Besides knowing 
history, Scott was a cle’jjer literary artist. I am 
well aware of the strictures made by Stevenson and 
others upon his style and the structure of his plots. 
Even if deserved, these criticisms cannot go beyond 
the minor details of execution. Indeed, they be- 
come utterly insignificant when we consider the 


XX 


INTRODUCTION 


very great skill with which Scott constructed the 
historical novel. When he began writing, he had 
in mind the sketches of Maria Edgeworth, such as 
Castle RacJcrent^ which described contemporary 
Irish life in faithful detail. What she was doing 
for Ireland he would do for Scotland. The so- 
called Scotch novels — among the first of which are 
Waverley^ Guy Mannering, and The Antiquary — 
are derived largely from Scotch life as Scott himself 
had viewed it in boyhood and youth ; or from inci- 
dents that had been related to him by the older 
members of his clan, and by odd characters which 
he had come into contact with here and there. For 
example, the education of a Scotch youth as de- 
picted in the character of Edward Waverley, was 
Scott’s own, of course with some variations. In 
Guy Mannering^ perhaps the most delightful of 
the Scotch novels. Dandle Dinmont is an old Bor- 
der farmer with whom Scott stayed on his Liddes- 
dale raids ” ; and the gypsies with Meg Merrilies, 
their queen, Scott had seen in his boyhood among 
the Cheviots. ‘‘A woman of more than female 
height, dressed in a long red coat,” Meg had given 
him an apple, and awakened his wonder at her 
strange appearance. So one might go on illustrat- 
ing incidents and characters in the Scotch novels 
through the Heart of Midlothian and Old Mor- 
tality. 

Like the ordinary novel such as Hardy writes, 
the Scotch novels have a firm basis in direct obser- 
vation. But Scott with his historical bent was not 


INTEODUCTION 


xxi 


satisfied with placing his action in the present time. 
He pushed his scene back a generation or more, 
to a time of civil commotion, that he might show 
how men and women were affected by wars and the 
councils and doings of kings and parliaments when 
their prosperity and perhaps the kingdom were 
threatened with ruin. Thus, in Waverley^ you have 
a house divided against itself over the question 
of allegiance to George the Second ; and Prince 
Charles Edward, the Stuart pretender, marching 
into England at the head of the Highland clans. 
Scotch life in its many phases is described only in 
relation to these events. Scott has been sharply 
criticised for his method. It is said, for instance, 
that he really depicted contemporary life under the 
guise of history. But it must be remembered that 
in out-of-the-way places in Scotland, time had stood 
still for a century. Scott was well aware of this. 
And so I think without marring in any essential 
way the truth of his picture of Scotch manners, he 
was able to carry his scene back to the stirring 
events of 1745 and 1715. Thus you see how under 
the clever hand of Scott, the novel of contempo- 
rary manners was transformed into the historical 
romance. 

a* 

The Second Type. — Scott’s creative powers were 
so immense, that when he had once attained success 
he could not stop with Scotland. He invaded Eng- 
land, France, Germany, and the East. The prob- 
lem of the historical romance now became quite 


xxii INTKODUCTION 

different. Scott had never been in the house of a 
Saxon thane, the palace of Louis the Eleventh, or 
the camp of Saladin. For these it was necessary 
to consult authentic documents. It was compara- 
tively easy to collect in chronicle, memoir, and 
state paper such public events as were necessary to 
his setting. But for the private life of the people, 
from the king down to the serf, their dwellings, 
their customs, their moral and religious codes, and 
their outlook in a hundred different ways, a hint 
here and a hint there had to be pieced together 
until an outline took form. This exacting labor 
Scott performed not for one but for many distinct 
periods ; and so well that he seemed to have had,” 
said Hutton, “something very like personal experi- 
ences with a few centuries at least.” 

Perfect accuracy of detail is of course impossible 
in work of this kind. Ivanhoe is not wholly true 
to its period. For a dramatic scene in Quentin 
^urward^ the murder of the Bishop of Liege is 
anticipated by fifteen years. In Hie Talisman^ 
Saladin is represented as entering the Christian 
camp in disguise ; history records no such incident. 
Variations like these from fact were sometimes 
made from ignorance, but more often by intent. 
Scott, it must be remembered, was writing fiction, 
not history. We must therefore grant him the 
freedom necessary to this aim. Komance is the 
popular handmaid of history. In reading history, 
we try to visualize for ourselves how men of old 
lived, fought, and died, amid the scenes of their 


INTBODUCTION 


xxiii 


action. The province of the historical novelist is to 
step in and aid ns in this act. Though his picture 
may contain many false figures, it is likely to be 
much better than anything we can fashion for our- 
selves. What is given is fact plus a play of the 
imagination upon fact. It is history made dramat- 
ic and picturesque. Or, as Carlyle stated the mat- 
ter more largely: ‘‘These Historical Novels have 
taught all men this truth, which looks like a tru- 
ism, and yet was as good as unknown to writers of 
history and others, till so taught : that the by -gone 
ages of the world were actually filled by living 
men, not by protocols, state-papers, controversies 
and abstractions of men. Not abstractions were 
they, not diagrams and theorems ; but men, in buff 
or other coats and breeches, with color in their 
cheeks, with passions in their stomach, and the 
idioms, features, and vitalities of very men.’’ 


Ill 


IVANHOE 

Its Great Scenes. — From the first, RanJioe has 
been the most popular of Scott’s novels.’ In this 
respect it is like Hamlet among the plays of 
Shakespeare. As a work of art, it has been dis- 
cussed by the critics to various conclusions. But 
after all has been said, I think we must frankly 
agree with Lockhart that in ‘ ‘ strength and splen- 
dor of imagination’’ Scott is here at his best. 
Where else are scenes so splendid as the tourna- 
^ ment at Ashby, Cedric among the angry barons at 
the feast in the CasItST^the capture of Torquilstone 
and the conflagration lighting up the evening sky, 
as “tower after tower crashed down,” or the trial 
of Rebecca for sorcery in the preceptory of Temple- 
stowe^ Show-pieces of description you may call 
them, if you like, but who else pould write them % 
And in the way of humorous incident Scott never 
surpassed the scenes between the disguised Rich- 
ard and Friar Tuck. 

Composition. — Strangely enough, these magnifi- 
cent scenes were composed under very distressing 
circumstances. Not to mention family bereave- 
ments, Scott was suffering severely from cramps in 

xxiY 


INTKODUCTION 


XXV 


the stomach, and as a result he was compelled to 
employ an amanuensis. Dictation is not now un- 
usual among novelists ; but the practice was then a 
curious experiment. As Scott rolled about on his 
spfa, dictating and groaning in the same breath, or 
as under the excitement of the great passages, he 
rose from his couch and walked up and down the 
room, .his secretary viewed the scene with the ut- 
most astonishment. In this manner, says Lock- 
hart, was produced “almost the whole of Ivan- 
hoe?'' Of the part written in Scott’s own hand, his 
biographer adds: “The fragment is beautiful to 
look at — many pages together without one altera- 
tion.’^ Without any extended revision, as was 
Scott’s custom, the manuscript was sent to the 
printer. The romance made its appearance Decem- 
ber 18, 1819. The title was suggested by an old 
rhyme, says Scott, “recording three names of the 
manors forfeited by the ancestor of the celebrated 
Hampden for striking the Black Prince a blow 
with his racket when they quarrelled at tennis : 

‘ Tring, Wing, and Ivanhoe, 

For striking of a blow 
Hampden did forego, 

And glad he could escape so.’ ” 

Td thP first edition was prefixed a Dedicatory 
Epistle from Laurence Templeton of Toppingwold, 
Cumberland, to the Bev. Dr. Dryasdust, residing in 
the Castle Gate, York. Under the name of the for- 
mer of these imaginary antiquarians, Scott origi- 


XXV 


INTEODUCTION 


nally intended to conceal the authorship of IvanJioe, 
but just before its publication he decided to let it 
appear as a new novel the author of Waver- 
leyP There are, however, in the romance some 
traces of the earlier plan. Not infrequent are foot- 
notes by L. T., that is, Laurence Templeton, and in 
the eighth chapter reference is made to QLlit i^arUoitr 
iilanugcript, an imaginary Anglo-Norman source for 
many incidents in the romance. 

Historical Background. — The aim of Scott was 
to describe the social life of England as it was in 
the twelfth century. For this purpose he selected 
the year 1194, when Eichard Lion-Heart returned 
from the third crusade. More than a century be- 
fore this time, William Duke of Normandy had 
invaded England and defeated the English at Hast- 
ings (1066). In this battle Harold, the last of the 
Saxon kings, was slain, and William by right of 
conquest became king of England. On a vast scale 
William confiscated the land of the conquered peo- 
ple, and divided it among his Norman followers, 
who became the proud barons depicted in IvanJioe, 
The native-born Englishmen, with their loss of land, 
were necessarily reduced to a subordinate place in 
the social scale. Indeed it was, says a chronicler, a 
disgrace to be called an Englishman. The English 
language also ceased to be a cultivated speech. 
True, it continued to be spoken by the mass of the 
population, but no one thought of writing beautiful 
verse and prose in it, as they did in the days of 


INTEODUCTION 


XXVll 


King Alfred. French was the language of polite 
society at court and in the castles of the new nobil- 
ity. It was also employed in schools and in all 
courts of law. Thus we have in the reign of Will- 
iam two races living side by side, each with its own 
language and its own social ideals. The friction 
was very great, resulting in quarrels and insurrec- 
tion. But the race he had degraded, William ruled 
with an iron hand. Though French remained the 
language of the Korman nobility till well on in the 
thirteenth century, the social animosities subsided 
under the successors of William, especially during 
the reign of his son Henry the First (1100-1135), 
who, it is said, learned English. 

The fusion of the two races, it is strongly main- 
tained by Freeman,* went steadily on under the 
Plantagenets, a line of kings which began with 
Henry the Second (1154-1189). He was succeeded 
by Kichard Lion-Heart, who reigned from 1189 to 
1199. There had, however, been introduced by the 
Plantagenets a new irritation. Henry the Second, 
born and bred in France, was a ruler over dukedoms 
and provinces in that country more extensive than 
the territory actually held by the French king him- 
self. Though Henry was an impartial executor of 
the laws and instituted many lasting reforms, it was 
then more than ever an honor to be a Frenchman. 
The court presided over by Eleanor, who had been 
Queen of France before becoming Queen of England, 
was among the most brilliant in Europe. The honors 


* The Norman Conquest^ vol. v., p. 825. 


INTKODUCTION 


xxviii 

that were thus bestowed upon the Frenchmen who 
again invaded England could not have been viewed 
with serenity by Englishmen. And of the contempt 
with which the Frenchman looked upon the English- 
man there is recorded a striking example. On his 
departure to the Holy Land, Richard Lion-Heart 
placed his kingdom in the hands of William de 
Longchamp, Bishop of Ely, who in his imprecations 
was accustomed to employ the formula: “I were 
worse than an Englishman, should I consent to this.” 

King Richard.— Richard Lion-Heart, who appears 
in Ivanhoe as the Black Knight, was the eldest son 
of Henry the Second and Queen Eleanor. Though 
born in England, he was bred a Frenchman. As 
Count of Poitou, he waged war for years against his 
father’s French subjects ; and at length utterly de- 
feated them, though they were led by Henry him- 
self. A few days later the old king died at Chinon 
in France, after kissing and cursing his wayward 
son. The romance of Richard’ s early life leading to 
this parricide is told by Maurice Hewlett in his 
Richard Yea and Nay. Richard is known in his- 
.tory as the absentee King. Crowned at Westmin- 
ster on September 3, 1189, he immediately began to 
make preparations for setting out on a crusade. 
“Koking,” says Freeman, ‘‘ever had less of Eng- 
lish feeling ; none cared less for the welfare of Eng- 
land ; none so systematically made himself a 
stranger to her.”* Richard, the brave crusader 


The Norman Conquest, vol. v. , p. 687. 


INTRODUCTION 


XXIX 


before Acre and in sight of Jerusalem, is depicted 
by Scott in The Talisman. On his way home over- 
land, he was taken prisoner by the Duke of Austria, 
and through the machinations of his brother John, 
who was intriguing for the throne, he was held a 
captive for more than a year. Released early in 
1194, he returned to England, though not as a Black 
Knight, settled the affairs of his kingdom, and left 
England forever. The rest of his life was passed in 
almost continuous war against Philip of France. 
He was slain by an arrow before Chaluz, i^pril 6, 
1199. 

ScotPs Treatment of History. — It will be ob- 
served how little use Scott makes of the external 
facts of history. Very few of the incidents in/^^Ti- 
hoe really occurred in the reign of Richard, and only 
two characters are historical. From his reading 
Scott forms for himself a mental picture of the 
social condition of England at the time, and then 
proceeds to awaken the same image in the mind 
of his reader. To this end, he builds up in his 
imagination various types of men and women : the 
Saxon, chafing under his subjection, the arrogant 
Norman Baron, the Jew, insulted by both Saxon 
and Norman, and a multitude of minor characters. 
Only now and then does actual history furnish a 
motive. Richard was in England, and that fact was 
enough to bring him to the lists at Ashby. John, 
then at the head of the kingdom, was an appro- 
priate person to preside over the tournament and 


XXX 


INTRODUCTION 


tlie subsequent banquet. No details in the life of 
either are given. 

It is, however, not to be inferred that Scott had 
no authority in history for his romance. On the 
contrary, investigation will show that he rarely 
deviated from what might have happened in the 
twelfth century. Scenes something like those be- 
tween Saxon and Norman had undoubtedly taken 
place. The Jew was treated by King John himself 
as disgracefully as was Isaac of York by Front de 
Boeuf in the castle of Torquilstone. Though the 
mythical Robin Hood belongs to a later period of 
popular belief, yet English forests had long been 
infested with outlaws. So far as is known, Richard 
never visited a Friar Tuck in disguise ; but the 
curious incident is related of one of the Edwards. 
In thus creating his characters and weaving his plot, 
the one principle that Scott ever kept in mind was 
that there should be no sin against probability. 

But the brilliant and impressive picture of man- 
ners that Scott has given is not quite true to the 
precise date assigned to his romance. For an 
effective ensemhle with striking contrasts, he pur- 
posely combined the characteristics of two or more 
periods. As has been seen, the sharp line dividing 
Saxon and Norman under William the Conqueror, 
faded away before the accession of Richard. But 
Scott wanted the motive of a Crusader returning to 
England in disguise, and for that he had to move 
his plot forward. Though there are other anachro- 
nisms, this is the most salient. 


IV 


METHOD OF STUDY 

Use of the Introduction.— In tins introduction 
has been admitted nothing, it is believed, which will 
not be of value to one before taking up IvanJioe, 
First of all, it is interesting to know so much as has 
been given about the personality of Scott, about his 
work in verse and in prose, and about the literary 
form to which this romance belongs. Of more 
specific interest are the circumstances under which 
IvanJioe was written, its mediaeval background, and 
its relation to history. All these topics which have 
been touched upon, with elaboration here and there, 
should of themselves afford suggestions of how 
Ivarihoe may be studied with profit. 

How to Read Ivanhoe.— But some more specific 
directions may be given to those who come new to 
literary study. Whoever reads the first chapter of 
Ivanlioe will finish the book, so absorbing is the 
story. So much may be taken for granted. But 
to read the romance once, carrying away some of 
its most striking incidents and scenes, is not enough 
for serious study. Before the details of the story 
can be thoroughly mastered, there must be at least 
a careful second reading. During the second read- 


XXXI 


xxxii INTRODUCTION 

ing, one should have at hand pencil and paper, 
with which to note down, in passing from chapter to 
chapter, the main incidents of each. Sometimes this 
can be done in a sentence ; at other times may be 
reqaired several sentences. In any case, make the 
statement of fact as brief as it may be and yet be 
accurate. In this way only can one hope to fix in 
the mind the scheme of a story of such magnitude 
as IvanJioe. 

Helps. — No chapter should be passea over without 
an effort to understand every passage, phrase, word, 
and allusion. As an aid to attaining this ideal of 
perfect reading are added to the text Scott’s own 
notes and a glossary of unusual words and expres- 
sions. But no notes can ever be quite adequate. 
Recourse must be had to a dictionary and a good 
general encyclopaedia. In the latter may be found, 
for example, sketches of King Richard, King John, 
the mythical Robin Hood, and the Knights-Tem- 
plars. Absolutely indispensable is an accurate map 
of England for looking up the scene of the story in 
Yorkshire and Leicestershire. When we become 
interested in an event we like to know where it is 
supposed to have taken place. That knowledge, it 
is hardly necessary to add, also helps us to remem- 
ber the event. 

Structure. — After understanding the romance as 
well as can be with the aids at hand, then is the time 
to study its structure. By arranging in order the 


INTKODUCTION 


xxxiii 


notes taken on eack chapter, it will be quite easy 
to see how Scott begins with the fool and the swine- 
herd in the forest by the Don, comes quickly to 
Rotherwood Grange, introducing Saxon and Nor- 
man, and then passes on from one magnificent 
scene to another, till he has depicted the leading 
character- types of the age, and the tale has run its 
course. The progress of the story may be viewed 
as analogous to that of a drama. Then the reader 
will inquire : What constitutes the introduction ? 
Where does the action begin? Where does the 
action reach its climax — that is, the point at which 
begins good fortune for the Saxons and disaster for 
the Normans? And finally, what is Scott’s dis- 
position of the characters at the end ? Certain ques- 
tions of detail will also come up. For instance r 
How does Scott bring together his characters in the 
most notable scenes ? When are his devices prob- 
able and when improbable ? But I must not 

present this structure in detail. That is for the 
student to work out for himself. 

Motives. — I may, however, venture to suggest 
the less obvious study of the several motives, or 
themes, which run through the romance. At times 
they are distinct, and then again they coalesce, 
resulting at last in a harmonious impression. Each 
of these themes may be taken up, traced, and dis- 
cussed by itself. First, there is the bitter feeling 
between Saxon and Norman, concerning which some 
observations have been made earlier in the Introduc- 


XXXIV 


INTRODUCTION 


tion, under the head of The Historical Background, 
Again, there is the return of the Crusader, unrecog- 
nized in his palmer’s weeds or in his black armor. 
Something like this must have sometimes occurred. 
At least, traditions of the kind have been handed 
down in many families, and Scott knew of them. 
In Waverley is told the story, founded on family 
legend, of a Sir Wilibert of Waverley, who returned 
from the Holy Land only to find his betrothed 
about to marry another. With his magic touch 
Scott has drawn an imaginary picture of the 
scene : 

Then arose in long and fair array the splendor 
of the bridal feast at Waverley Castle ; the tall and 
emaciated form of its real lord, as he stood in his 
pilgrim’s weeds, an unnoticed spectator of the fes- 
tivities of his supposed heir and intended bride ; the 
electrical shock occasioned by the discovery ; the 
springing of the vassals to arms ; the astonishment 
of the bridegroom ; the terror and confusion of the 
bride ; the agony with which Wilibert observed that 
her heart as well as consent was in these nuptials ; 
the air of dignity, yet of deep feeling, with which 
he flung down the half-drawn sword and turned 
away forever from the house of his ancestors.” * 
Other motives, or themes, are Robin Hood at the 
head of his merry outlaws, and the story of Rebecca 
and her father. Ever since the appearance of the 
romance, it has been felt by many that Rebecca 
should have been married to Ivanhoe. Among them 


Waverley, Chapter IV. 


INTRODUCTION 


XXXV 


was Thackeray, who, under the title Rebecca and 
Rowena,"^ wrote a most amusing burlesque of Scott, 
in which the fair Jewess is righted. But Scott had 
already defended his conclusion with great force. 
After calling attention to the fact that the prejudices 
of the age rendered impossible a union between 
Ivanhoe and Rebecca, he goes on to say, in his final 
introduction to Ivanhoe: 

“The author may in passing observe, that he 
thinks a character of a highly virtuous and lofty 
stamp is degraded rather than exalted by an 
attempt to reward virtue with temporal prosperity. 
Such is not the recompense which Providence has 
deemed worthy of suffering merit, and it is a dan- 
gerous and fatal doctrine to teach young persons, 
the most common readers of romance, that recti- 
tude of conduct and of principle are either natur- 
ally allied with, or adequately rewarded by, the 
gratification of our passions or attainment of our 
wishes. In a word, if a virtuous and self-denied 
character is dismissed with temporar}^ wealth, 
greatness, rank, or the indulgence of such a rashly 
formed or ill-assorted passion as that of Rebecca 
for Ivanhoe, the reader will be apt to say, verily 
virtue has had its reward. But a glance on the 
great picture of life will show, that the duties of 
self-denial and the sacrifice of passion to principle 
are seldom thus remunerated ; and that the inter- 
nal consciousness of their high-minded discharge 
of duty, produces on their own reflections a more 


Consult Thackeray’s works. 


XXXVl 


INTRODUCTION 


adequate recompense in the form of that peace 
which the world cannot give or take away.’^ 

Who is right, Scott or Thackeray ? 

Characters. — From structure and motives, the 
obvious step is to the single character. With Scott 
a brief description usually precedes the introduc- 
tion of an important character on the scene. Of 
course this sketch, describing dress and suggesting 
some traits of mind, should first of all be carefully 
noted. But the outer description is only the start- 
ing-point ; for Scott is among the most dramatic 
of writers. His characters move about and jostle 
one another like the actors on the stage. Beyond 
what Scott says of them, they reveal themselves by 
their deeds. So quite naturally the student of 
Ivanhoe will observe the conduct of the various 
characters, not forgetting in his observation to ask 
himself whether in a special case the act is in har- 
mony with other and previous acts. In this con- 
nection it must be remembered that, within probable 
bounds, characters may be modified by events. 
In fact Scott always represents them in this way. 
'No isolated picture does he give, but men and 
women infiuenced by others and by the historical 
setting in which they are placed. The keynote to 
his method Scott strikes in the very first chapter, 
where the conversation of G-urth and Wamba takes 
its tone and color from the oppression of the Nor- 
man barons. 


V 


IVANHOE AS AN ENTRANCE TO THE STUDY OF THE 
ENGLISH NOVEL 

To Scott. — The specific study of Ivanhoe may 
stop at this point, but then Scott suggests many 
topics. A reader who becomes interested in his 
romantic personality should turn to Lockhart’s 
Life of Scott, reckoned among the very best of Eng- 
lish biographies, and to the delightful Journal 
which Scott kept during his last years. Among 
brief works on Scott is the excellent sketch and 
estimate by R. H. Hutton in the English Men of 
Letters Series. Again, no one will be disposed to 
drop Scott after reading Ivanhoe, for there are so 
many other beautiful romances from his pen. The 
Talisman will serve to complete the Richard of 
Ivanhoe. If one wishes to know how Scott man- 
aged French history, there is Quentin Durward, 
containing, in the character of Louis the Eleventh, 
Scott’s best historical portrait, though in other 
respects the novel has many weak points. Of the 
strictly Scotch novels the most pleasing is Guy 
Mannering, with its Scotch types of character, 
such as Dominie Sampson, Dandie Dinmont, Paulus 
Pleydell, and Meg Merrilies. 

xxxvii 


xxxviii 


INTRODUOTION 


To the Historical Novel. — Moreover, a study of 
the historical novel logically begins with Scott. 
From him his successors have learned their craft. 
Not that they have slavishly followed him, but it 
was he who pointed the way. It will be quickly 
seen by whoever takes up the study of the histori- 
cal novel that few writers have succeeded so well 
as Scott. Indeed, since his time there have ap- 
peared only three first-rate historical novels. They 
are Thackeray’s Henry Esmond^ Charles Keade’s 
Cloister and the Hearth^ and George Eliot’s Ro- 
mola. Each of these works may be profitably read 
in connection with Scott, with a view to variations 
in method and detail. As everybody knows, a host 
of so-called historical novels have issued from the 
press during the last decade. Among them there 
is some excellent work, as for example that of 
Maurice Hewlett, who in his Little Nomls of Italy 
and elsewhere has varied in an interesting manner 
the Scott type. But as a whole, the recent speci- 
mens of the historical romance are merely stories of 
adventure with an historical semblance, or crude 
patches of history interspersed with love passages. 
Still, they should be examined in connection with 
Scott for contrast, if for no other purpose. 

To the Development of the English Novel. — 

And finally we may begin with Scott the study of 
the novel in other phases. While he was writing 
Waverley, Jane Austen was just gaining attention 
for her admirable delineations of life in southern 


INTRODUCTION 


xxxix 


England. Scott admired her work greatly. After 
reading Pride and Prejudice for the third time, he 
wrote in his journal: “The Big Bow-wow strain 
I can do myself like any now going ; but the 
exquisite touch which renders commonplace things 
and characters interesting, from the truth of the 
description and the sentiment, is denied to me.’^ 
On the other hand, Jane Austen declared, when 
asked to write a romance, that it was beyond her 
power. No contrast in temperament could be more 
striking. And just because of this contrast, a good 
time to take up Jane Austen is after completing a 
romance like IvanJioe. From Scott and Jane Aus- 
ten we may proceed to Dickens, Thackeray, Trol- 
lope, Charlotte Bronte, George Eliot, Meredith, and 
Hardy, reading in order say David Copperjleldy 
Vanity Fair, Barchester Tower Jane Eyre^ Silas 
Marner^ The Ordeal of Richard Fever el^ and The 
Return of the Native. The time necessary for such 
a course of reading is misspent by most of us every 
year. 



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PROGRAM OF STUDY FOR THE INDIANA 
INSTITUTES. 


This edition of Ivanhoe has been adapted to the special needs of the 
reading circle. For each chapter have been prepared comments and 
questions bearing upon plot and character. Some of them will doubt- 
less appear very elementary — they are so intended ; while others, it is 
hoped, will awaken new interest in this literary masterpiece. The 
notes on each chapter lead up to general topics for papers or discus- 
sions to be prepared for the institutes. Some of the topics are based 
upon a group of chapters ; others presuppose a knowledge of all that 
has gone before. Finally, I have added a series of subjects covering 
the entire romance. I would also suggest that there be a preliminary 
study devoted to the personality of Scott, his works, and his place in 
the progress of prose fiction. By the program here outlined provision 
is made for seven institutes. In case the number of topics given for 
discussion prove too many, it will be quite easy to make a selection, 
reserving the rest for further study. 

TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION. 

(First Group.) 

1. Scott’s Life. Consult Introduction. For further information, 
consult Memoirs of the Life of Scott, by J. G. Lockhart (London, 
1837-38 ; often reprinted) ; the Journal (Harpers, New York) ; the 
brief biography by R. H. Hutton in the English Men of Letters Series 
(Harpers); and The Scott Country, by W. S, Crockett (The Macmillan 
Co., New York). 

2. The Metrical Romances. Give an account of the Lay of the 
Last Minstrel, Marmion, and the Lady of the Lake — one or all, — show- 
ing how they prepare the way for the prose romances. Consult In- 
troduction. 

3. The Waverley Novels. Give an account of them, grouping 
them as in the Introduction. A complete bibliography of Scott’s 
works may be found in C. D. Yong’s Sir Walter Scott in the Great 
Writers Series. Consult also the encyclopedias. 

xli 


xlii 


PROGRAM OF STUDY. 


4. The English Novel before Scott. Consult W. Raleigb, The 
English Novel (Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York), and the editor’s 
Development of the English Novel (The Macmillan Company, New York), 

5. Scott as the Founder op the Historical Novel and his 
Influence. Consult Introduction, and for further information the 
Development of the English Novel (cited above). 


(Second Group.) 

CHAPTERS I- VI. 

ROTHERWOOD GRANGE. 

1. The Scene between Gurth and Wamba, as “ the best opening 
of a story ever written.” Compare with the opening of Quentin 
Durivard. 

2. Rotherwood Grange — a description with a plan. 

3. Cedric’s Household. 

4. The Evening Scene at Rotherwood. 

5. Scott’s Manner op Introducing his Characters, (Take up 
each one.) 

6. A Discussion of Scott’s Portrayal op Character by Means 
OP Description. 


(Third Group.) 

CHAPTERS VII-XHI. 

THE TOURNAMENT AT ASHBY. 

1. The Development op the Plot up to this Point. 

2. The Hero from his First Appearance. (Note where interest 
in him is first awakened ; the situations where it must have been diffi- 
cult for him to preserve his disguise ; and the time that has elapsed 
thus far. ) 

3. A Description op the Lists with a Plan. 

4. The Tournament on the First Day. (In detail.) 

5. The Tournament on the Second Day. (In detail.) 

6. The Archery Contest, with an account of Robin Hood from 
his first appearance. 


PROGRAM OF STUDY. ' 


xliii 


(Fourth Group.) 

CHAPTERS XIV-XX. 

FROM ASHBY TO TORQUILSTONE. 

1. The Development of the Plot in this Section. — Present 
clearly the change in the situation relative to Saxon and Norman since 
chapter XIII, discussing the incidents whereby the change is brought 
about. 

2. Scott’s Devices for Keeping Attention Alert. 

3. Scott’s Humour. Base your observations upon the scenes thus 
far. If more material is desired for forming an opinion, read Ouy 
Mannering. 

4. The Motivation thus far. Take up the principal characters, 
and discuss the reasons for their behaviour, coming to some conclusion 
as to whether Scott is strong or weak in the presentation of motives. 
Cedric may be made the main study. 

5. A Study op Gurth as a Good Example op Character- 
development. 

6. Compare Isaac op York and Shylock in Shakespeare’s Mer- 
chant of Venice, 


(Fifth Group.) 

CHAPTERS XXI-XXXI. 

THE FALL OP TORQUILSTONE. 

1. Scott’s Contrast op Characters in the Four Scenes (chap- 
ters XXI-XXIV). 

2. A Description op Torquilstone. (Draw a sketch.) 

3. The Capture op Torquilstone — the successive incidents in 
detail. It may be compared with the siege of Tillietudlem in Old 
Mortality. 

4. Front-de-Boeuf, as an Ideal Villain. (Compare with Shake- 
speare’s Richard the Third.) 

5. Ulrica. (Compare with Madge Wildfire in the Heart of Mid- 
lothian.) 

6. Wamba. a study in character-development. 


xliv PROGRAM OF STUDY. 

(Sixth Group.) 

CHAPTER XXXII-XLIV. 

TEMPLESTOWE ; AND GENERAL TOPICS. 

1. The Trial op Rebecca and the Combat. There is a judicial 
combat iu Shakespeare’s Richard the Second (act i, scene iii), which 
may be compared with Scott s. 

2. A Study op three Saxon Types : Cedric, Athelstane, and 
Higg. (They should be followed through all their acts, and their 
marked characteristics should be clearly brought out). 

3. A Study op Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert. 

4. Robin Hood. The part he plays in the romance from his first 
entrance. Scott’s treatment of him may be compared with the hero as 
he appears in the ballads. For this purpose consult, F. J. Child, Eng- 
lish and Scottish Ballads, or other collections of ballads. 

5. Scott’s Religious Types, as represented by Prior Aymer, the 
Prior of St. Botolph, Friar Tuck, Albert de Malvoisin, and Lucas de 
Beaumanoir. 

6. The Time Covered by the Romance. It will be an interesting 
piece of work to discover the month in which the events are supposed 
to take place, and the number of days over which the action extends, 
with a view to grouping the events by days. For the month, see 
chapters I and VI. The chapters fall very nearly into the following 
time-groups : I-VI ; VII-XI ; XII-XVIII ; XVIII (in part)-XX ; 
XXI-XXXI ; XXXII-XXXIV ; XXXV-XXXIX ; XL-XLII; XLIII- 
XLIV. Beyond the time thus indicated, it will be noticed that in the 
last chapter the story projects forward to the marriage of Ivanhoe 
and Rowena and to the death of Richard. The extremely short period 
covered by the main part of the romance will perhaps throw some 
light on the probability of preserving the various disguises. 

(Seventh Group.) 

GENERAL TOPICS. 

1. The Dramatic Structure. Ivanhoe is built on the lines of the 
Shakespearean drama. Every good play must have an introduction, 
explaining the situation ; some incident called “the exciting force,” 
out of which the main action springs ; a climax, or turning point, 
coming somewhat after the middle of the action ; and a catastrophe 


PROGRAM OF STUDY. 


xlv 


or outcome, which may be tragic or comic. For these parts in IvanTioe, 
see chapters I-III ; V ; XXXI ; and XLIII-XLIV, containing in the 
interview between Rebecca and the Templar the “ final moment of sus 
pense.” Work out on these lines the main plot of Ivanhoe, showing 
the development between the logical divisions. Though not necessary, 
one may consult to advantage Bliss Perry, A Study of Prose- Fiction 
(Houghton, Mifflin and Co., Boston, Mass.). 

2. The Hero and the Heroine. Discuss the manner in which 
they are introduced and follow them through the romance. 

3. Rebecca. Give a full account of her from her entrance into the 
romance to the last chapter. Is she, as the novel is constructed, the 
real heroine? See Thackeray’s “ Rebecca and Rowena”in his 
lesques ; and the Introduction (p.xxxv). Further interest in this theme 
may be evoked by looking up her original. She seems to have been 
drawn in part from a beautiful American Jewess named Rebecca Gratz, 
whom Washington Irving described to Scott in 1817. A full account 
of Miss Gratz is given in the Century Magazine for September, 1882 
(vol. XXIV ; new series vol. H.). 

4. Thackeray's Rebecca and Rowena. This good-natured bur- 
lesque should not be passed over. Observe Scott’s note on the raising 
of Athelstane (p. 493), the quotation from Scott’s remarks on Rebecca 
(Introduction, p. xxxv), and Thackeray’s tribute to Scott in his sketches 
entitled “ De Juventute ” and “ On a Peal of Bells” in the Roundabout 
Papers. 

5. The Historical Characters— King Richard and Prince 
John. Take up the part played by each. 

6. Scott’s Treatment of History. It seems to me that we should 
insist first of all on truth to the manners of the time. Exactness in the 
details of political history, especially of so remote a period, is less impor- 
tant. Consult Introduction (p. xxvi-xxx) ; E. A. Freeman, The History 
of the Norman Conquest (vol. V. 686-696, and 825-839) ; and for a longer 
account, Kate Norgate, England under the Angevin Kings, vol. H. 
chapters VII- VIII (The Macmillan Company, New York, 1887). Many 
of Scott’s minor inaccuracies will no doubt be discovered. For ex- 
ample, Athelstane is represented as a descendant of Edward the Con- 
fessor, but Edward died without issue (ch. XXI). Cedric’s father 
feasted with Harold who died in 1066 (ch. XXI). Hengist was buried 
at Coningsburgh— a pure fiction (ch. XXXH). Richard is several times 
called Richard Plantagenet, but the surname was not used till the 
fifteenth century. These and other similar slips are however of very 
little moment. 


PKINCIPAL CHARACTERS 


Cedric the Saxon. 

Wilfred of Ivanhoe, Ms disinherited son, a suitor to 
Rowena. 

Rowena, Cedric's ward. 

Wamba, Ms jester. 

Gurth, Ms swineherd. 

Sir Philip de Malvoisin, a Norman neighbor, 

Atmer, Prior of Jorvaulx Abbey. 

Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, a Norman Knight-Templar, 
Isaac of York, a Jew. 

Rebecca, Ms daughter. 

Athelstane, a Saxon knight, a suitor to Rowena. 

Locksley, the assumed name of Robin Hood, an outlaw. 
Reginald Front-de-Bceuf, 

Maurice de Bracy, 



Richard de Malvoisin, 


Hugh de Grantmesnil 
Ralph de Vipont, j 

Lucas de Beaumanoir, grandmaster of the Templars. 
CONRADE DE MoNT-FiTCHET, Ms attendant knight, 
Albert Malvoisin, Preceptor of Templestowe, 

King, Richard the First, called the Lion-Heart. 
Princet John, Ms brother. 

Friar Tuck, of Copmanhurst. 

Dame Ulrica, of Torquilstone. 

Higg, a Saxon peasant. 

Scenes: Yorkshire and Leicestershire. Time: 1194 . 


IVANHOE 


CHAPTER I 

Thus communed these ; while to their lowly dome 
The full-fed swine return’d with evening home, 

Compell’d, reluctant, to the several sties, 

With din obstreperous and ungrateful cries. 

Pope’s Odyssey. 

In that pleasant district of merry England which is watered 
by the river Don, there extended in ancient times a large 
forest, covering the greater part of the beautiful hills and 
valleys which lie between Sheffield and the pleasant town of 
Doncaster. The remains of this extensive wood are still to be 
seen at the noble seats of Wentworth, of Wharncliffe Park, 
and around Eotherham. Here haunted of yore the fabulous 
Dragon of, Wantley ; here were fought many of the most des- 
perate battles during the Civil Wars of the Koses; and here 
also flourished in ancient times those bands of gallant outlaws 
whose deeds have been rendered so popular in English song. 

Such being our chief scene, the date of our story refers to a 
period towards the end of the reign of Eichard I., when his 
return from his long captivity had become an event rather 
wished than hoped for by his despairing subjects, who were in 
the meantime subjected to every species of subordinate oppres- 
sion. The nobles, whose power had become exorbitant during 
the reign of Stephen, and whom the prudence of Henry the 
Second had scarce reduced into some degree of subjection to 
the crown, had now resumed their ancient license in its utmost 
extent ; despising the feeble interference of the English Coun- 
cil of State, fortifying their castles, increasing the number of 
their dependants, reducing all around them to a state of vas- 
salage, and striving by every means in their power to place 
themselves each at the head of such forces as might enable him 

1 


2 


IVANHOE 


to make a figure in the national convulsions which appeared 
to be impending. 

The situation of the inferior gentry, or franklins, as they 
were called, who, by the law and spirit of the English constitu- 
tion, were entitled to hold themselves independent of feudal 
tyranny, became now unusually precarious. If, as was most 
generally the case, they placed themselves under the protection 
of any of the petty kings in their vicinit}^, accepted of feudal 
offices in his household, or bound themselves, by mutual trea- 
ties of alliance and protection, to support him in his enter- 
prises, they might indeed purchase temporary repose; but it 
must be with the sacrifice of that independence which was so 
dear to every English bosom, and at the certain hazard of 
being involved as a party in whatever rash expedition the am- 
bition of their protector might lead him to undertake. On the 
other hand, such and so multiplied were the means of vexation 
and oppression possessed by the great barons> that they never 
wanted the pretext, and seldom the will, to harass and pursue, 

• even to the very edge of destruction, any of their less powerful 
neighbours who attempted to separate themselves from their 
authority, and to trust for their protection, during the dangers 
of the times, to their own inoffensive conduct and to the laws 
of the land. 

A circumstance which greatly tended to enhance the tyranny 
of the nobility and the sufferings of the inferior classes arose 
from the consequences of the Conquest by Duke William of 
Normandy. Four generations had not sufficed to blend the 
hostile blood of the Normans and Anglo-Saxons, or to unite, 
by common language and mutual interests, two hostile races, 
one of which still felt the elation of triumph, while the other 
groaned under all the consequences of defeat. The power had 
been completely placed in the hands of the Norman nobility 
by the event of the battle of Hastings, and it had been used, 
as our histories assure us, with no moderate hand. The whole 
race of Saxon princes and nobles had been extirpated or dis- 
inherited, with few or no exceptions; nor were the numbers 
great who possessed land in the country of their fathers, even 
as proprietors of the second or of yet inferior classes. The 
royal policy had long been to. weaken, by every means, legal or 
illegal, the strength of a part of the population which was 
justly considered as nourishing the most inveterate antipathy 
to their victor. All the monarchs of the Norman race had 


IVANHOE 


3 


shown the most marked predilection for their Norman sub- 
jects; the laws of the chase, and many others, equally unknown 
to the milder and more free spirit of the Saxon constitution, 
had been fixed upon the necks of the subjugated inhabitants, 
to add weight, as it were, to the feudal chains with which they 
were loaded. At court, and in the castles of the great nobles, 
where the pomp and state of a court was emulated, Norman- 
French was the only language employed ; in courts of law, the 
pleadings and judgments were delivered in the same tongue. 
In short, French was the language of honour, of chivalry, and 
even of justice, while the far more manly and expressive 
Anglo-Saxon was abandoned to the use of rustics and hinds, 
who knew no other. Still, however, the necessary intercourse 
between the lords of the soil, and those oppressed inferior 
beings by whom that soil was cultivated, occasioned the grad- 
ual formation of a dialect, compounded betwixt the French and 
the Anglo-Saxon, in which they could render themselves mutu- 
ally intelligible to each other ; and from this necessity arose by 
degrees the structure of our present English language, in 
which the speech of the victors and the vanquished have been 
so happily blended together; and which has since been so 
richly improved by importations from the classical languages, 
and from those spoken by the southern nations of Europe. 

This state of things I have thought it necessary to premise 
for the information of the general reader, who might be apt to 
forget that, although no great historical events, such as war 
or insurrection, mark the existence of the Anglo-Saxons as a 
separate people subsequent to the reign of William the Second, 
yet the great national distinctions betwixt them and their con- 
querors, the recollection of what they had formerly been, and 
to what they were now reduced, continued, down to the reign 
of Edward the Third, to keep open the wounds which the con- 
quest had inflicted, and to maintain a line of separation 
betwixt the descendants of the victor Normans and the van- 
quished Saxons. 

The sun was setting upon one of the rich grassy glades of 
that forest which we have mentioned in the beginning of the 
chapter. Hundreds of broad-headed, short-stemmed, wide- 
branched oaks, which had witnessed perhaps the stately march 
of the Eoman soldiery, fiung their gnarled arms over a thick 
carpet of the most delicious g’reen sward; in some places they 


4 


IVANHOE 


were intermingled with beeches, hollies, and copsewood of 
various descriptions, so closely as totally to intercept the level 
beams of the sinking sun; in others they pceded from each 
other, forming those long sweeping vistas in the intricacy of 
which the eye delights to lose itself, while imagination con- 
siders them as the paths to yet wilder scenes of silvan solitude. 
Here the red rays of the sun shot a broken and discoloured 
light, that partially hung upon the shattered boughs and mossy 
trunks of the trees, and there they illuminated in brilliant 
patches the portions of turf to which they made their way. A 
considerable open space, in the midst of this glade, seemed 
formerly to have been dedicated to the rites of Druidical super- 
stition ; for, on the summit of a hillock, so regular as to seem 
artificial, there still remained part of a circle of rough, un- 
hewn stones, of large dimensions. Seven stood upright; the 
rest had been dislodged from their places, probably by the zeal 
of some convert to Christianity, and lay, some prostrate near 
their former site, and others on the side of the hill. One 
large stone only had found its way to the bottom, and, in 
stopping the course of a small brook which glided smoothly 
round the foot of the eminence, gave, by its opposition, a feeble 
voice of murmur to the placid and elsewhere silent stream- 
let. 

. " The human figures which completed this landscape were in 
number two, partaking, in their dress and appearance, of that 
wild and rustic character which belonged to the woodlands of 
the West Biding of Yorkshire at that early period. The ddest 
of these men had a stern, savage, and wild aspect. His gar- 
ment was of the simplest form imaginable, being a close jacket 
with sleeves, composed of the tanned skin of some animal, on 
which the hair had been originally left, but which had been 
worn off in so many places that it would have been difficult to 
distinguish, from the patches that remained, to what creature 
the fur had belonged. This primeval vestment reached from 
the throat to the knees, and served at once all the usual pur- 
poses of body-clothing; there was no wider opening at the 
collar than was necessary to admit the passage of the head, 
from which it may be inferred that it was put on by slipping 
it over the head and shoulders, in the manner of a modern 
shirt, or ancient hauberk. Sandals, bound with thongs made 
of boar’s hide, protected the feet, and a roll of thin leather was 
twined artificially round the legs, and, ascending above the 


IVANHOE 


5 


calf, left the knees bare, like those of a Scottish Highlander. 
To make the jacket sit yet more close to the body, it was 
gathered at the middle by a broad leathern belt, secured by a 
brass buckle ; to one side of which was attached a sort of scrip, 
and to the other a ram’s horn, accoutred with a mouthpiece, 
for the purpose of blowing. In the same belt was stuck one of 
those long, broad, sharp-pointed, and two-edged knives, with a 
buck’s-horn handle, which were fabricated in the neighbour- 
hood, and bore even at this early period the name of a Sheffield 
whittle. The man had no covering upon his head, which was 
only defended by his own thick hair, matted and twisted 
together, and scorched by the influence of the sun into a rusty 
dark-red colour, forming a contrast with the overgrown beard 
upon his cheeks, which was rather of a yellow or amber hue. 
One part of his dress only remains, but it is too remarkable to 
be suppressed; it was a brass ring, resembling a dog’s collar, 
but without any opening, and soldered fast round his neck, so 
loose as to form no impediment to his breathing, yet so tight 
as to be incapable of being removed, excepting by the use of 
the flle. On this singular gorget was engraved, in Saxon 
characters, an inscription of the following purport : — ^ Gurth, 
the son of Beowulph, is the born thrall of Cedric of Eother- 
wood.’ 

Beside the swineherd, for such was Gurth’s occupation, was 
seated, upon one of the fallen Druidical monuments, a person 
about ten years younger in appearance, and whose dress, 
though resembling his companions in form, was of better ma- 
terials, and of a more fantastic description. His jacket had 
been stained of a bright purple hue, upon which there had been 
some attempt to paint grotesque ornaments in different col- 
ours. To the jacket he added a short cloak, which scarcely 
reached half-way down his thigh; it was of crimson cloth, 
though a good deal soiled, lined with bright yellow ; and as he 
could transfer it from one shoulder to the other, or at his pleas- 
ure draw it all around him, its width, contrasted with its want 
of longitude, formed a fantastic piece of drapery. He had 
thin silver bracelets upon his arms, and on his neck a collar of 
the same metal, bearing the inscription, ^Wamba, the son of 
Witless, is the thrall of Cedric of Eotherwood.’ This person- 
age had the same sort of sandals with his companion, but 
instead of the roll of leather thong, his legs were cased in a sort 
of gaiters, of which one was red and the other yellow. He was 


6 


IVANHOE 


provided also with a cap, having around it more than one bell, 
about the size of those attached to hawks, which jingled as he 
turned his head to one side or other; and as he seldom re- 
mained a minute in the same posture, the sound might be con- 
sidered as incessant. Around the edge of this cap was a stiff 
bandeau of leather, cut at the top into open work, resembling a 
coronet, while a prolonged bag arose from within it, and fell 
down on one shoulder like an old-fashioned nightcap, or a 
Jelly-bag, or the head-gear of a modern hussar. It was to this 
part of the cap that the bells were attached; which circum- 
stance, as well as the shape of his head-dress, and his own half- 
crazed, half-cunning expression of countenance, sufficiently 
pointed him out as belonging to the race of domestic clowns or 
jesters, maintained in the houses of the wealthy, to help away 
the tedium of those lingering hours which they were obliged to 
spend within doors. He bore, like his companion, a scrip 
attached to his belt, but had neither horn nor knife, being 
probably considered as belonging to a class whom it is esteemed 
dangerous to entrust with edge-tools. In place of these, he was 
equipped with a sword of lath, resembling that with which 
harlequin operates his wonders upon the modern stage. 

The outward appearance of these two men formed scarce a 
stronger contrast than their look and demeanour. That of the 
serf, or bondsman, was sad and sullen ; his aspect was bent on 
the ground with an air of deep dejection, which might be 
almost construed into apathy, had not the fire which occasion- 
ally sparkled in his red eye manifested that there slumbered, 
under the appearance of sullen despondency, a sense of oppres- 
sion, and a disposition to resistance. The looks of Wamba, on 
the other hand, indicated, as usual with his class, a sort of 
vacant curiosity, and fidgety impatience of any posture of 
repose, together with the utmost self-satisfaction respecting his 
own situation and the appearance which he made. The dia- 
logue which they maintained between them was carried on in 
Anglo-Saxon, which, as we said before, was universally spoken 
by the inferior classes, excepting the Norman soldiers and the 
immediate personal dependants of the great feudal nobles. 
But to give their conversation in the original would convey 
but little information to the modern reader, for whose benefit 
we beg to offer the following translation : — 

^ The curse of St. Withold upon these infernal porkers ! ’ 
said the swineherd, after blowing his horn obstreperously, to 


IVANHOE 


7 


collect together the scattered herd of swine, which, answering 
his call with notes equally melodious, made, however, no haste 
to remove themselves from the luxurious banquet of beech- 
mast and acorns on which they had fattened, or to forsake the 
marshy banks of the rivulet, where several of them, half- 
plunged in mud, lay stretched at their ease, altogether regard- 
less of the voice of their keeper. ^ The curse of St. Withold 
upon them and upon me ! ^ said Gurth ; ^ if the two-legged wolf 
snap not up some of them ere nightfall, I am no true man. 
Here, Fangs ! Fangs ! ^ he ejaculated at the top of his voice to a 
ragged, wolfish-looking dog, a sort of lurcher, half mastiff, half 
gre^^hound, which ran limping about as if with the purpose of 
seconding his master in collecting the refractory grunters ; but 
which, in fact, from misapprehensions of the swineherd’s sig- 
nals, ignorance of his own duty, or malice prepense, only drove 
them hither and thither, and increased the evil which he 
seemed to design to remedy. ' A devil draw the teeth of him,’ 
said Gurth, ^ and the mother of mischief confound the ranger 
of the forest,* that cuts the fore-claws off our dogs, and makes 
them unfit for their trade ! Wamba, up and help me an thou 
beest a man; take a turn round the back o’ the hill to gain 
the wind on them; and when thou’st got the weather-gage, 
thou mayst drive them before thee as gently as so many 
innocent lambs.’ 

^ Truly,’ said Wamha, without stirring from the spot, ^ I 
have consulted my legs upon this matter, and they are alto- 
gether of opinion that to carry my gay garments through 
these sloughs would be an act of unfriendship to my sovereign 
person and royal wardrobe ; wherefore, Gurth, I advise thee to 
call off Fangs, and leave the herd to their destiny, which, 
whether they meet with bands of travelling soldiers, or of out- 
laws, or of wandering pilgrims, can be little else than to be 
converted into Hormans before morning, to thy no small ease 
and comfort.’ 

^ The swine turned Normans to my comfort ! ’ quoth Gurth ; 
^ expound that to me, Wamba, for my brain is too dull and my 
mind too vexed to read riddles.’ 

‘ Why, how call you those grunting brutes running about on 
their four legs ? ’ demanded Wamba. 

^ Swine, fool — swine,’ said the herd ; ^ every fool knows 
that.’ 


* See Note 1. 


8 


IVANHOE 


^And swine is good Saxon/ said the Jester; ^but how call 
you the sow when she is flayed, and drawn, and quartered, and 
hung up by the heels, like a traitor ? ’ 

^ Pork,’ answered the swineherd. 

^ I am very glad every fool knows that too,’ said Wamba, 
‘ and pork, I think, is good Norman-French ; and so when the 
brute lives, and is in the charge of a Saxon slave, she goes by 
her Saxon name; but becomes a Norman, and is called pork, 
when she is carried to the castle hall to feast among the nobles. 
What dost thou think of this, friend Gurth, ha ? ’ 

‘ It is but too true doctrine, friend Wamba, however it got 
into thy fool’s pate.’ 

^Nay, I can tell you more,’ said Wamba in the same tone: 
^ there is old Alderman Ox continues to hold his Saxon epithet 
while he is under the charge of serfs and bondsmen such as 
thou, but becomes Beef, a fiery French gallant, when he arrives 
before the worshipful Jaws that are destined to consume him. 
Mynherr Calf, too, becomes Monsieur de Veau in the like man- 
ner: he is Saxon when he requires tendance, and takes a 
Norman name when he becomes matter of enjoyment.’ 

^ By St. Dunstan/ answered Gurth, ^ thou speakest but sad 
truths; little is left to us but the air we breathe, and that 
appears to have been reserved Avith much hesitation, solely for 
the purpose of enabling us to endure the tasks they lay upon 
our shoulders. The finest and the fattest is for their board; 
the loveliest is for their couch; the best and bravest supply 
their foreign masters with soldiers, and Avhiten distant lands 
with their bones, leaving few here who have either will or the 
power to protect the unfortunate Saxon. God’s blessing on 
our Master Cedric, he hath done the work of a man in standing 
in the gap; but Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf is coming down to 
this country in person, and we shall soon see how little Cedric’s 
trouble will avail him. Here, here,’ he exclaimed again, rais- 
ing his voice, ' So ho ! so ho ! well done. Fangs ! thou hast them 
all before thee now, and bring’st them on bravely, lad.’ 

‘ Gurth,’ said the Jester, ‘1 know thou thinkest me a fool, 
or thou wouldst not be so rash in putting thy head into my 
mouth. One word to Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf or Philip de 
Malvoisin, that thou hast spoken treason against the Norman 
— and thou art but a castaway swineherd ; thou wouldst waver 
on one of these trees as a terror to all evil speakers against 
dignities.’ 


IVANHOE 


9 


^ Dog, thou wouldst not betray me,’ said Gurth, ^ after 
having led me on to speak so much at disadvantage ? ’ 

‘ Betray thee ! ’ answered the Jester ; ^ no, that were the 
trick of a wise man; a fool cannot half so well help himself. 
But soft, whom have we here ? ’ he said, listening to the tramp- 
ling of several horses which became then audible. 

‘ Never mind whom,’ answered Gurth, who had now got his 
herd before him, and, with the aid of Fangs, was driving them 
down one of the long dim vistas which we have endeavoured to 
describe. 

^Nay, but I must see the riders,’ answered Wamba; ^per- 
haps they are come from Fairyland with a message from King 
Oberon.’ 

^ A murrain take thee ! ’ rejoined the swineherd; ^ wilt thou 
talk of such things, while a terrible storm of thunder and 
lightning is raging within a few miles of us ? Hark, how the 
thunder rumbles ! and for summer rain, I never saw such broad 
downright flat drops fall out of the clouds; the oaks, too, 
notwithstanding the calm weather, sob and creak with their 
great boughs as if announcing a tempest. Thou canst play the 
rational if thou wilt; credit me for once, and let us home ere 
the storm begins to rage, for the night will be fearful.’ 

Wamba seemed to feel the force of this appeal, and accom- 
panied his companion, who began his journey after catching 
up a long quarter-staff which lay upon the grass beside him. 
This second Eumaeus strode hastily down the forest glade, 
driving before him, with the assistance of Fangs, the whole 
herd of his inharmonious charge. 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

Critics have expressed great admiration for this and the following 
scenes. ‘I have often thought,’ says Leslie Stephen, ‘that the be- 
ginning of “ Ivanhoe,” the scene in the forest where Gurth and Wamba 
are chatting at the foot of the old barrow, and encounter the Templar 
and the Prior on their way to Cedric’s house, is the best opening of a 
story ever written. It is inimitably graphic and picturesque, and in- 
troduces us at once to a set of actors most dramatically contrasted.’ 
Scott’s aim in this first chapter is to give the reader the general setting 
of the romance and to bring him into the atmosphere that is to prevail 
throughout. He tells us first ‘ where ’ and ‘ when ’ the scene of action is 
to be, and immediately afterward he describes the state of society at 


10 


IVANHOE 


the period. All this is set forth, Scott says, ‘ for the information of the 
general reader.’ Coming then to the specific scene, he describes a 
mediaeval forest, into which he introduces Cedric’s swineherd and 
jester in conversation over Saxon and Norman. They hear the tramp- 
ling of several horses announcing new actors that are to appear on 
the scene. 

Consult map for the geographical setting. 

At what period are the incidents of the romance supposed to take 
place ?— In addition to what Scott says, see Introduction, page xxviii. 

What is the feeling between Saxon and Norman ? 

]What is the social position of the franklins ? 

J Describe a mediaeval forest. 

Contrast the dress of Gurth and Wamba. Why do they wear collars ? 
What differences in age ? Contrast ‘their look and demeanour.’ 

Give in detail their conversation, observing how it is coloured by 
hatred of the Norman. 

How, according to Wamba, are swine converted into Normans ? 

Why does not Scott make Gurth and Wamba speak the language of 
the period ? 

In what way does Scott prepare for the new characters of the next 
chapter ? 

What suggestion, too, is there that we may soon expect Cedric and 
Front-de-Boeuf ? 


CHAPTER II 


A monk there was, a fayre for the maistrie, 

An outrider that loved venerie ; 

A manly man, to be an abbot able, 

Full many a daintie horse had he in stable. 

And whan he rode, men might his bridle hear 
Gingeling in a whistling wind as clear. 

And eke as loud, as doth the chapell bell. 

There as this lord was keeper of the cell. 

Chaucer. 

Hotwithstandij^g} the occasional exhortation and chiding of 
his companion, the noise of the horsemen’s feet continuing to 
approach, Wamba could not be prevented from lingering occa- 
sionally on the road, upon every pretence which occurred ; now 
catching from the hazel a cluster of half-ripe nuts, and now 
turning his head to leer after a cottage maiden who crossed 
their path. The horsemen, therefore, soon overtook them on 
the road. 

Their numbers amounted to ten men, of whom the two who 
rode foremost seemed to be persons of considerable importance, 
and the others their attendants. It was not difficult to ascer- 
tain the condition and character of one of these personages. 
He was obviously an ecclesiastic of high rank; his dress was 
that of a Cistercian monk, but composed of materials much 
finer than those which the rule of that order admitted. His 
mantle and hood were of the best Flanders cloth, and fell in 
ample, and not ungraceful, folds around a handsome though 
somewhat corpulent person. His countenance bore as little 
the marks of self-denial as his habit indicated contempt of 
worldly splendour. His features might have been called good, 
had there not lurked under the penthouse of his eye that sly 
epicurean twinkle which indicates the cautious voluptuary. 
In other respects, his profession and situation had taught him 
a ready command over his countenance, which he could 
contract at pleasure into solemnity, although its natural 
expression was that of good-humoured social indulgence. In 
defiance of conventual rules and the edicts of popes and 
councils, the sleeves of this dignitary were lined and turned up 

11 


12 


IVANHOE 


with rich furs, his mantle secured at the throat with a golden 
clasp, and the whole dress proper to his order as much refined 
upon and ornamented as that of a Quaker beauty of the 
present day, who, while she retains the garb and costume of 
her sect, continues to give to its simplicity, by the choice of 
materials and tlie mode of disposing them, a certain air of 
coquettish attraction savouring but too much of the vanities of 
world. 



r This worthy churchman rode upon a well-fed, ambling 
mule, whose furniture was highly decorated, and whose bridle, 
according to the fashion of the day, was ornamented with 
silver bells. In his seat he had nothing of the awkward- 
ness of the convent, but displayed the easy and habitual 
grace of a well-trained horseman. Indeed, it seemed that so 
humble a conveyance as a mule, in hoWever good case, and 
however well broken to a pleasant and accommodating amble, 
was only used by the gallant monk for travelling on the 
road. A lay brother, one of those who followed in the train, 
had, for his use on other occasions, one of the most handsome 
Spanish jennets ever bred in Andalusia, which merchants 
used at that time to import, with great trouble and risk, for 
the use of persons of wealth and distinction. The saddle and 
housings of this superb palfrey were covered by a long foot- 
cloth, which reached nearly to the ground, and on which were 
richly embroidered mitres, crosses, and other ecclesiastical 
emblems. Another lay brother led a sumpter mule, loaded 
probably with his superior’s baggage; and two monks of his 
own order, of inferior station, rode together in the rear, laugh- 
ing and conversing with each other, without taking much 
notice of the other members of the cavalcade. 

The companion of the church dignitary was a man past 
forty, thin, strong, tall, and muscular; an athletic figure, 
which long fatigue and constant exercise seemed to have left 
none of the softer part of the human form, having reduced the 
whole to brawn, bones, and sinews, which had sustained a 
thousand toils, and were ready to dare a thousand more. His 
head was covered with a scarlet cap, faced with fur, of that 
kind which the French call mortier, from its resemblance to 
the shape of an inverted mortar. His countenance was there- 
fore fully displayed, and its expression was calculated to im- 
press a degree of awe, if not of fear, upon strangers. High 
features, naturally strong and powerfully expressive, had been 


IVANHOE 


13 


burnt almost into Negro blackness by constant exposure to 
the tropical sun, and might, in their ordinary state, be said to 
slumber after the storm of passion had passed away; but the 
projection of the veins of the forehead, the readiness with 
which the upper lip and its thick black moustaches quivered 
upon the slightest emotion, plainly intimated that the tempest 
might be again and easily awakened. His keen, piercing, dark 
eyes told in every glance a history of difficulties subdued and 
dangers dared, and seemed to challenge opposition to his 
wishes, for the pleasure of sweeping it from his road by a 
determined exertion of courage and of will; a deep scar on 
his brow gave additional sternness to his countenance and a 
sinister expression to one of his eyes, which had been slightly 
injured on the same occasion, and of which the vision, though 
perfect, was in a slight and partial degree distorted. 

The upper dress of this personage resembled that of his 
companion in shape, being a long monastic mantle; but the 
colour, being scarlet, showed that he did not belong to any of 
the four regular orders of monks. On the right shoulder 
of the mantle there was cut, in white cloth, a cross of a 
peculiar form. This upper robe concealed what at first view 
seemed rather inconsistent with its form, a shirt, namel}^, of 
linked mail, with sleeves and gloves of the same, curiously 
plaited and interwoven, as flexible to the body as those which 
are now wrought in the stocking-loom out of less obdurate 
materials. The fore-part of his thighs, where the folds of his 
mantle permitted them to be seen, were also covered with 
linked mail; the knees and feet were defended by splints, or 
thin plates of steel, ingeniously jointed upon each other; and 
mail hose, reaching from the ankle to the knee, effectually pro- 
tected the legs, and completed the rider’s defensive armour. 
In his girdle he wore a long and double-edged dagger, which 
was the only offensive weapon about his person. 

He rode, not a mule, like his companion, but a strong 
hackney for the road, to save his gallant war-horse, which a 
squire led behind, fully accoutred for battle, with a chamfron 
or plaited head-piece upon his head, having a short spike pro- 
jecting from the front. On one side of the saddle hung a 
short battle-axe, richly inlaid with Damascene carving; on 
the other the rider’s plumed head-piece and hood of mail, with 
a long two-handed sword, used by the chivalry of the period. 
A second squire held aloft his master’s lance, from the 


14 


IVANHOE 


extremity of which fluttered a small banderole, or streamer, 
bearing a cross of the same form with that embroidered upon 
his cloak. He also carried his small triangular shield, broad 
enough at the top to protect the breast, and from thence 
diminishing to a point. It was covered with a scarlet cloth, 
which prevented the device from being seen. 

These two squires were followed by two attendants, whose 
dark visages, white turbans, and the Oriental form of their 
garments, showed them to be natives of some distant Eastern 
country.* The whole appearance of this warrior and his 
retinue was wild and outlandish ; the dress of his squires w^as 
gorgeous, and his Eastern attendants wore silver collars round 
their throats, and bracelets of the same metal upon their 
swarthy legs and arms, of which the latter were naked from 
the elbow, and the former from mid-leg to ankle. Silk and 
embroidery distinguished their dresses, and marked the wealth 
and importance of their master; forming, at the same time, 
a striking contrast with the martial simplicity of his own 
attire. They were armed with crooked sabres, having the hilt 
and baldric inlaid with gold, and matched with Turkish 
daggers of yet more costly workmanship. Each of them bore 
at his saddle-bow a bundle of darts or javelins, about four feet 
in length, having sharp steel heads, a weapon much in use 
among the Saracens, and of which the memory is yet preserved 
in the martial exercise called el jerrid, still practised in the 
Eastern countries. 

The steeds of these attendants were in appearance as foreign 
as their riders. They were of Saracen origin, and conse- 
quently of Arabian descent ; and their flne slender limbs, small 
fetlocks, thin manes, and easy springy motion, formed a 
marked contrast with the large- jointed heavy horses, of which 
the race was cultivated in Flanders and in Normandy for 
mounting the men-at-arms of the period in all the panoply of 
plate and mail, and which, placed by the side of those Eastern 
coursers, might have passed for a personiflcation of substance 
and of shadow. 

The singular appearance of this cavalcade not only at- 
tracted the curiosity of Wamba, but excited even that of his 
less volatile companion. The monk he instantly knew to be 
the Prior of Jorvaulx Abbey, well known for many miles 
around as a lover of the chase, of the banquet, and, if fame did 
* See Negro Slaves. Note 2. 


IVANHOE 


15 


him not wrong, of other worldly pleasures still more incon- 
sistent with his monastic vows. 

Yet so loose were the ideas of the times respecting the con- 
duct of the clergy, whether secular or regular, that the Prior 
’ Aymer maintained a fair character in the neighbourhood of his 
abbey. His free and jovial temper, and the readiness with 
which he granted absolution from all ordinary delinquencies, 
rendered him a favourite among the nobility and principal 
gentry, to several of whom he was allied by birth, being of a 
distinguished Norman family. The ladies, in particular, were 
not disposed to scan too nicely the morals of a man who was a 
professed admirer of their sex, and who possessed many means 
of dispelling the ennui which was too apt to intrude upon the 
halls and bowers of an ancient feudal castle. The Prior 
mingled in the sports of the field with more than due eager- 
ness, and was allowed to possess the best-trained hawks and the 
fleetest greyhounds in the North Eiding — circumstances which 
strongly recommended him to the youthful gentry. With the 
old he had another part to play, which, when needful, he could 
sustain with great decorum. His knowledge of books, however 
superflcial, was sufficient to impress upon their ignorance re- 
spect for his supposed learning ; and the gravity of his deport- 
ment and language, with the high tone which he exerted in 
setting forth the authority of the church and of the priesthood, 
impressed them no less with an opinion of his sanctity. Even 
the common people, the severest critics of the conduct of their 
betters, had commiseration with the follies of Prior Aymer. 
VHe was.,gcixerQusj, and charity, as it is well known, covereth a 
multitude of sins, in another sense than that in which it is 
said to do so in Scripture. The revenues of the monastery, of 
which a large part was at his disposal, while they gave him the 
means of supplying his own very considerable expenses, af- 
forded also those largesses which he bestowed among the 
peasantry, and with which he frequently relieved the distresses 
of the oppressed. If Prior Aymer rode hard in the chase, or 
remained long at the banquet, if Prior Aymer was seen at the 
early peep of dawn to enter the postern of the abbey, as he 
glided home from some rendezvous which had occupied the 
hours of darkness, men only shrugged up their shoulders, and 
reconciled themselves to his irregularities by recollecting that 
the same were practised by many of his brethren who had no 
redeeming qualities whatsoever to atone for them. Prior 


• • • • 


16 


IVANHOE 


Aymer, therefore, and his character, were well known to our 
Saxon serfs, who made their rude obeisance, and received his 
" Benedicite, mes filz* in return. 

But the singular appearance of his companion and his at- 
tendants arrested their attention and excited their wonder, and 
they could scarcely attend to the Prior of Jorvaulx^ question, 
when he demanded if they knew of any place of harbourage in 
the vicinity ; so much were they surprised at the half-monastic, 
half-military appearance of the swarthy stranger, and at the 
uncouth dress and arms of his Eastern attendants. It is prob- 
able, too, that the language in which the benediction was con- 
ferred, and the information asked, sounded ungracious, though 
not probably unintelligible, in the ears of the Saxon peasants. 

‘ I asked you, my children,^ said the Prior, raising his voice, 
and using the lingua Franca, or mixed language, in which the 
Norman and Saxon races conversed with each other, ^ if there 
be in this neighbourhood any good man who, for the love of 
God and devotion to Mother Church, will give two of her 
humblest servants, with their train, a nighPs hospitality and 
refreshment ? ’ 

This he spoke with a tone of conscious importance, which 
formed a strong contrast to the modest terms which he thought 
it proper to employ. 

• ‘Two of the humblest servants of Mother Church ! ’ repeated 
Wamba to himself, hut, fool as he was, taking care not to 
make his observation audible ; ‘ I should like to see her sene- 
schals, her chief butlers^ and her other principal domestics ! ^ 

After this internal commentary on the Prior’s speech, he 
raised his eyes and replied to the question which had been 
put. 

‘ If the reverend fathers,’ he said, ‘ loved good cheer and soft 
lodging, few miles of riding would carry them to the Priory of 
Brinxworth, where their quality could not but secure them the 
most honourable reception; or if they preferred spending a 
penitential evening, they might turn down yonder wild glade, 
which would bring them to the hermitage of Copmanhurst, 
where a pious anchoret would make them sharers for the night 
of the shelter of his roof and the benefit of his prayers.’ 

The Prior shook his head at both proposals. 

‘Mine honest friend,’ said he, ‘if the jangling of thy bells 
had not dizzied thine understanding, thou mightest know 
. Clericus clericum non decimal; that is to say, we churchmen 


• • • • 


IVANHOE 


17 


do not exhaust each other’s hospitality, but rather require that 
of the laity, giving them thus an opportunity to serve God in 
honouring and relieving His appointed servants.’ 

^ It is true,’ replied Wamba, ^ that I, being but an ass, am, 
nevertheless, honoured to bear the bells as well as your rever- 
ence’s mule ; notwithstanding, I did conceive that the charity 
of Mother Church and her servants might be said, with other 
charity, to begin at home.’ 

^ A truce to thine insolence, fellow,’ said the armed rider, 
breaking in on his prattle with a high and stern voice, ^ and 

tell us, if thou canst, the road to How call’d you your 

franklin, Prior Aymer ? ’ 

‘ Cedric,’ answered the Prior — ^ Cedric the Saxon. Tell me, 
good fellow, are we near his dwelling, and can you show us the 
road ? ’ 

‘ The road will be uneasy to find,’ answered Gurth, who 
broke silence for the first time, ^ and the family of Cedric 
retire early to rest.’ 

^ Tush, tell not me, fellow ! ’ said the military rider ; ^ ’tis 
easy for them to arise and supply the wants of travellers such 
as we are, who wil]| not stoop to beg the hospitality which we 
have a right to command.’ 

know not,’ said Gurth, sullenly, ^if I should show the 
way to my master’s house to those who demand as a right the 
shelter which most are fain to ask as a favour.’ 

^ Do you dispute with me, slave ! ’ said the soldier ; and, 
setting spurs to his horse, he caused ]jim to make a demi-volte 
across the path, raising at the same time the riding rod which 
he held in his hand, with a purpose of chastising what he con- 
sidered as the insolence of the peasant. 

Gurth darted at him a savage and revengeful scowl, and 
with a fierce yet hesitating motion laid his hand on the haft 
of his knife ; hut the interference of Prior Aymer, who pushed 
his mule betwixt his companion and the swineherd, prevented 
the meditated violence. 

^ Nay, by St. Mary, brother Brian, you must not think you 
are now in Palestine, predominating over heathen Turks and 
infidel Saracens; we islanders love not blows, save those of 
Holy Church, who chasteneth whom she loveth. Tell me, 
good fellow,’ said he to Wamba, and seconded his speech by 
a small piece of silver coin, ‘the way to Cedric the Saxon’s; 
you cannot be ignorant of it, and it is your duty to direct 


18 


IVANHOE 


the wanderer even when his character is less sanctified than 
ours/ 

‘In truth, venerable father,’ answered the Jester, ‘the 
Saracen head of your right reverend companion has frightened 
out of mine the way home: I am not sure I shall get there 
to-night myself/ 

‘ Tush,’ said the Abbot, ‘ thou canst tell us if thou wilt. 
This reverend brother has been all his life engaged in fighting 
among the Saracens for the recovery of the Holy Sepulchre ; 
he is of the order of Knights Templars, whom you may have 
heard of : he is half a monk, half a soldier.’ 

‘ If he is but half a monk,’ said the Jester, ‘ he should not 
be wholly unreasonable with those whom he meets upon the 
road, even if they should be in no hurry to answer questions 
that no way concern them.’ 

‘ I forgive thy wit,’ replied the Abbot, ‘ on condition thou 
wilt show me the way to Cedric’s mansion.’ 

‘ Well, then/ answered Wamba, ‘ your reverences must hold 
on this path till you come to a sunken cross, of which scarce 
a cubit’s length remains above ground; then take the path 
to the left, for there are four which meet a^ Sunken Cross, and 
I trust your reverences will obtain shelter before the storm 
comes on.’ 

The Abbot thanked his sage adviser ; and the cavalcade, 
setting spurs to their horses, rode on as men do who wish to 
reach their inn before the bursting of a night-storm. 

As their horses’ hoofs died away, Gurth said to his com- 
panion, ‘ If they follow thy wise direction, the reverend fathers 
will hardly reach Rotherwood this night.’ 

‘ Ko,’ said the Jester, grinning, ‘but they may reach Shef- 
field if they have good luck, and that is as fit a place for them. 
I am not so bad a woodsman as to show the dog where the deer 
lies, if I have no mind he should chase him.’ 

‘ Thou art right,’ said Gurth ; ‘ it were ill that Aymer saw 
the Lady Eowena ; and it were worse, it may be, for Cedric to 
quarrel, as is most likely he would, with this military monk. 
But, like good servants, let us hear and see, and say nothing.’ 

We return to the riders, who had soon left the bondsmen 
far behind them, and who maintained the following conversa- 
tion in the Norman-French language, usually employed by the 
superior classes, with the exception of the few who were still 
inclined to boast their Saxon descent : — 


IVANHOE 


19 


^ What mean these fellows by their capricious insolence ? ’ 
said the Templar to the Cistercian, ‘ and why did you prevent 
me from chastising it ? ^ 

^ Marry, brother Brian, ^ replied the Prior, ‘ touching the one 
of them, it were hard for me to render a reason for a fool 
speaking according to his folly ; and the other churl is of that 
savage, fierce, intractable race some of whom, as I have often 
told you, are still to be found among the descendants of the 
conquered Saxons, and whose supreme pleasure it is to testify, 
by all means in their power, their aversion to their conquerors.’ 

^ I would soon have beat him into courtes]^,’ observed Brian ; 
^ I am accustomed to deal with such spirits. Our Turkish 
captives are as fierce and intractable as Odin himself could 
have been; yet two months in my household, under the man- 
agement of my master of the slaves, has made them humble, 
submissive, serviceable, and observant of your will. Marry, 
sir, you must beware of the poison and the dagger ; for they use 
either with free will when you give them the slightest oppor- 
tunity.’ 

^ Ay, but,’ answered Prior Aymer, ^ every land has its own 
manners and fashions; and, besides that beating this fellow 
could procure us no information respecting the road to 
Cedric’s house, it would have been sure to have established a 
quarrel betwixt you and him had we found our way thither. 
Eemember what I told you: this wealthy franklin is proud, 
fierce, jealous, and irritable, a withstander of the nobility, and 
even of his neighbours, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf and Philip 
Malvoisin, who are no babes to strive with. He stands up so 
sternly for the privileges of his race, and is so proud of his 
uninterrupted descent from Hereward, a renowned champion 
of the Heptarchy, that he is universally called Cedric the 
Saxon ; and makes a boast of his belonging to a people from 
whom many others endeavour to hide their descent, lest they 
should encounter a share of the vce victis, or severities imposed 
upon the vanquished.’ 

^ Prior Aymer,’ said the Templar, ^ you are a man of gal- 
lantry, learned in the study of beauty, and as expert as a 
troubadour in all matters concerning the arrHs of love ; but I 
shall expect much beauty in this celebrated Rowena, to coun- 
terbalance the self-denial and forbearance which I must exert 
if I am to court the favour of such a seditious churl as you 
have described her father Cedric.’ 


20 


IVANHOE 


^ Cedric is not her father/ replied the Prior, ^ and is but of 
remote relation : she is descended from higher blood than even 
he pretends to, and is but distantly connected with him by 
birth. Her guardian, however, he is, self-constituted as I be- 
lieve; but his ward is as dear to him as if she were his own 
child. Of her beauty you shall soon be judge; and if the 
purity of her complexion, and the majestic yet soft expression 
of a mild blue eye, do not chase from your memory the black- 
tressed girls of Palestine, ay, or the houris of old Mahound’s 
paradise, I am an infidel and no true son of the church.^ 

^ Should your boasted beauty,^ said the Templar, ^ be 
weighed in the balance and found wanting, you know our 
wager ? ^ 

^ My gold collar/ answered the Prior, ^ against ten butts of 
Chian wine : they are mine as securely as if they were already 
in the convent vaults, under the key of old Dennis, the cel- 
larer.^ 

^ And I am myself to be judge/ said the Templar, ^ and I am 
only to be convicted on my own admission that I have seen no 
maiden so beautiful since Pentecost was a twelvemonth. Pan 
it not so ? Prior, your collar is in danger ; I will wear it over 
my gorget in the lists of Ashby-de-la-Zouche.^ 

^ Win it fairly/ said the Prior, ^ and wear it as ye will ; I 
will trust your giving true response, on your word as a knight 
and as a churchman. Yet, brother, take my advice, and file 
your tongue to a little more courtesy than your habits of pre- 
dominating over infidel captives and Eastern bondsmen have 
accustomed you. Cedric the Saxon, if offended — and he is 
noway slack in taking offence — is a man who, without respect 
to your knighthood, my high office, or the sanctity of either, 
would clear his house of us, and send us to lodge with the 
larks, though the hour were midnight. And be careful how 
you look on Eowena, whom he cherishes with the most jealous 
care; an he take the least alarm in that quarter we are but 
lost men. It is said he banished his only son from his family 
for lifting his eyes in the way of affection towards this beauty, 
who may be worshipped, it seems, at a distance, but is not to 
be approached with other thoughts than such as we bring to 
the shrine of the Blessed Virgin.^ 

^Well, you have said enough/ answered Die Templar; 
will for a night put on the needful restraint, and deport me as 
meekly as a maiden ; but as for the fear of his expelling us by 


lYANHOE 


21 


violence, myself and squires, with Hamet and Abdalla, will 
warrant you against that disgrace. Doubt not that we shall 
be strong enough to make good our quarters.’ 

^ We must not let it come so far,’ answered the Prior. ^ But 
here is the clown’s sunken cross, and the night is so dark that 
we can hardly see which of the roads we are to follow. He bid 
us turn, I think, to the left.’ 

^To the right,’ said Brian, ^to the best of my remem- 
brance.’ 

‘ To the left — certainly the left ; I remember his pointing 
with his wooden sword.’ 

^ Ay, but he held his sword in his left hand, and so pointed 
across his body with it,’ said the Templar. 

Each maintained his opinion with sufficient obstinacy, as is 
usual in all such cases; the attendants were appealed to, but 
they had not been near enough to hear Wamba’s directions. 
At length Brian remarked, what had at first escaped him in 
the twilight — ^ Here is some one either asleep or lying dead at 
the foot of this cross. Hugo, stir him with the butt-end of thy 
lance.’ 

This was no sooner done than the figure arose, exclaiming 
in good French, ‘ Whosoever thou art, it is discourteous in you 
to disturb my thoughts.’ 

^ We did but wish to ask you,’ said the Prior, ^ the road to 
Eotherwood, the abode of Cedric the Saxon.’ 

^ I myself am bound thither,’ replied the stranger ; ^ and if 
I had a horse I would be your guide, for the way is somewhat 
intricate, though perfectly well known to me.’ 

‘ Thou shalt have both thanks and reward, my friend,’ said 
the Prior, ^ if thou wilt bring us to Cedric’s in safety.’ 

And he caused one of his attendants to mount his own led 
horse, and give that upon which he had hitherto ridden to the 
stranger who was to serve for a guide. 

Their conductor pursued an opposite road from that which 
Wamba had recommended for the purpose of misleading them. 
The path soon led deeper into the woodland, and crossed more 
than one brook, the approach to which was rendered perilous 
by the marshes through which it flowed; but the stranger 
seemed to know, as if by instinct, the soundest ground and the 
safest points of passage ; and, by dint of caution and attention, 
brought the party safely into a wider avenue than any they 
had yet seen ; and, pointing to a large, low, irregular building 


22 


IVANHOE 


at the upper extremity, he said to the Prior, ‘ Yonder is Eoth- 
erwood, the dwelling of Cedric the Saxon.’ 

This was a joyful intimation to Aymer, whose nerves were 
none of the strongest, and who had suffered such agitation and 
alarm in the course of passing through the dangerous bogs, 
that he had not yet had the curiosity to ask his guide a single 
question. Finding himself now at his ease and near shelter, 
his curiosity began to awake, and he demanded of the guide 
who and what he was. 

^ A palmer, just returned from the Holy Land,’ was the 
answer. 

^ You had better have tarried there to fight for the recovery 
of the Holy Sepulchre,’ said the Templar. 

^ True, Eeverend Sir Knight,’ answered the Palmer, to 
whom the appearance of the Templar seemed perfectly famil- 
iar ; ^ but when those who are under oath to recover the holy 
city are found travelling at such a distance from the scene of 
their duties, can you wonder that a peaceful peasant like me 
should decline the task which they have abandoned ? ’ 

The Templar would have made an angry reply, but was in- 
terrupted by the Prior, who again expressed his astonishment 
that their guide, after such long absence, should be so perfectly 
acquainted with the passes of the forest. 

‘ I was born a native of these parts,’ answered their guide, 
and as he made the reply they stood before the mansion of 
Cedric — a low, irregular building, containing several court- 
yards or inclosures, extending over a considerable space of 
ground, and which, though its size argued the inhabitant to be 
a person of wealth, differed entirely from the tall, turreted, 
and castellated buildings in which the Korman nobility re- 
sided, and which had become the universal style of architecture 
throughout England. 

Eotherwood was not, however, without defences ; no habita- 
tion, in that disturbed period, could have been so without the 
risk of being plundered and burnt before the next morning. 
A deep fosse, or ditch, was drawn round the whole building, 
and filled with water from a neighbouring stream. A double 
stockade, or palisade, composed of pointed beams, which the 
adjacent forest supplied, defended the outer and inner bank 
of the trench. There was an entrance from the west through 
the outer stockade, which communicated by a drawbridge with 
a similar opening in the interior defences. Some precautions 


IVANHOE 


23 


had been taken to place those entrances under the protection 
of projecting angles, by which they might be flanked in case of 
need by archers or slingers. 

Before this entrance the Templar wound his horn loudly; 
for the rain, which had long threatened, began now to descend 
with great violence. 

COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

In this chapter Scott first introduces two Normans of rank with their 
trains, the one an ecclesiastic at the head of a neighbouring abbey, the 
other a knight commander of the order of Knights Templars, just re- 
turned from Palestine. They are intended as typical of their class. 
They soon meet Gurth and Wamba and then the disguised Palmer. 

What are their names ?— See list of principal characters. What are 
the characteristics of each in respect to dress and bearing 7 Describe 
the company with each. 

How does the Prior show his knowledge of human nature 7 
Why does Wamba try to lead the two Normans astray 7 
Why do they wish to pass the night at Rotherwood Grange 7 
Had there been any previous conversation between the Prior and the 
Knight Templar concerning the household of Cedric 7 
What is their wager 7 

What indication is there of the place toward which they are travel- 
ling 7 

What suggestion that the Palmer may be the son of Cedric 7 
What is the outward appearance of Cedric’s mansion 7 
How are we prepared for the third chapter 7 


I 


CHAPTER III 


Then (sad relief !) from the bleak coast that hears 
The German Ocean roar, deep-blooming, strong, 

And yellow-hair’d, the blue-eyed Saxon came. 

Thomson’s Liberty. 

In a hall, the height of which was greatly disproportioned to 
its extreme length and width, a long oaken table formed of 
planks rough-hewn from the forest, and which had scarcely re- 
ceived any polish, stood ready prepared for the evening meal of 
Cedric the Saxon. The roof, composed of beams and rafters, 
had nothing to divide the apartment from the sky excepting 
the planking and thatch; there was a huge fireplace at either 
end of the hall, but, as the chimneys were constructed in a very 
clumsy manner, at least as much of the smoke found its way 
into the apartment as escaped by the proper vent. The con- 
stant vapour which this occasioned had polished the rafters 
and beams of the low-browed hall, by encrusting them with a 
black varnish of soot. On the sides of the apartment hung 
implements of war and of the chase, and there were at each 
corner folding doors, which gave access to other parts of the 
extensive building. 

The other appointments of the mansion partook of the rude 
simplicity of the Saxon period, which Cedric piqued himself 
upon maintaining. The floor was composed of earth mixed 
with lime, trodden into a hard substance, such as is often em- 
ployed in flooring our modern barns. For about one quarter 
of the length of the apartment the floor was raised by a step, 
and this space, which was called the dais, was occupied only by 
the principal members of the family and visitors of distinction. 
For this purpose, a table richly covered with scarlet cloth was 
placed transversely across the platform, from the middle of 
which ran the longer and lower board, at which the domestics 
and inferior persons fed, down towards the bottom of the hall. 
The whole resembled the form of the letter T, or some of those 
ancient dinner-tables which, arranged on the same principles. 


IVANHOE 


25 


may be still seen in the antique Colleges of Oxford or Cam- 
bridge. Massive chairs and settles of carved oak were placed 
upon the dais, and over these seats and the more elevated table 
was fastened a canopy of cloth, which served in some degree 
to protect the dignitaries who occupied that distinguished 
station from the weather, and especially from the rain, which 
in some places found its way through the ill-constructed roof. 

The walls of this upper end of the hall, as far as the dais 
extended, were covered with hangings or curtains, and upon 
the floor there was a carpet, both of which were adorned with 
some attempts at tapestry or embroidery, executed with bril- 
liant, or rather gaudy, colouring. Over the lower range of 
table, the roof, as we have noticed, had no covering ; the rough 
plastered walls were left bare, and the rude earthen floor was 
uncarpeted; the board was uncovered by a cloth, and rude 
massive benches supplied the place of chairs. 

In the centre of the upper table were placed two chairs 
more elevated than the rest, for the master and mistress of the 
family, who presided over the scene of hospitality, and from 
doing so derived their Saxon title of honour, which signifies 
‘the Dividers of Bread.’ 

To each of these chairs was added a footstool, curiously 
carved and inlaid with ivory, which mark of distinction was 
peculiar to them. One of these seats was at present occupied 
by Cedric the Saxon, who, though but in rank a thane, or, as 
the Normans called him, a franklin, felt at the delay of his 
evening meal an irritable impatience which might have become 
an alderman, whether of ancient or of modern times. 

It appeared, indeed, from the countenance of this proprietor, 
that he was of a frank, but hasty and choleric, temper. He 
was not above the middle stature, but broad-shouldered, long- 
armed, and powerfully made, like one accustomed to endure 
the fatigue of war or of the chase; his face was broad, with 
large blue eyes, open and frank features, fine teeth, and a well- 
formed head, altogether expressive of that sort of good humour 
which often lodges with a sudden and hasty temper. Pride 
and jealousy there was in his eye, for his life had been spent 
in asserting rights which were constantly liable to invasion; 
and the prompt, fiery, and resolute disposition of the man had 
been kept constantly upon the alert by the circumstances of 
his situation. His long yellow hair was equally divided on the 
top of his head and upon his brow, and combed down on each 


26 


IVANHOE 


side to the length of his shoulders : it had hut .\ittle tendency 
to grey, although Cedric was approaching to his sixtieth 
j2^r. 

His dress was a tunic of forest green, furred at the throat 
and cuffs with what was called minever — a kind of fur inferior 
in quality to ermine, and formed, it is believed, of the skin of 
the grey squirrel. This doublet hung unbuttoned over a close 
dress of scarlet which sate tight to his body; he had breeches 
of the same, but they did not reach below the lower part of the 
thigh, leaving the knee exposed. His feet had sandals of the 
same fashion with the peasants, but of finer materials, and 
secured in the front with golden clasps. He had bracelets of 
gold upon his arms, and a broad collar of the same precious 
metal around his neck. About his waist he wore a richly 
studded belt, in which was stuck a short, straight, two-edged 
sword, with a sharp point, so disposed as to hang almost per- 
pendicularly by his side. Behind his seat was hung a scarlet 
cloth cloak lined with fur, and a cap of the same materials, 
richly embroidered, which completed the dress of the opulent 
landholder when he chose to go forth. A short boar-spear, 
with a broad and bright steel head, also reclined against the 
back of his chair, which served him, when he walked abroad, 
for the purposes of a staff or of a weapon, as chance might 
require. 

Several domestics, whose dress held various proportions be- 
twixt the richness of their master’s and the coarse and simple 
attire of Gurth, the swineherd, watched the looks and waited 
the commands of the Saxon dignitary. Two or three servants 
of a superior order stood behind their master upon the dais ; 
the rest occupied the lower part of the hall. Other attendants 
there were of a different description: two or three large and 
shaggy greyhounds, such as were then employed in hunting 
the stag and wolf ; as many slow-hounds, of a large bony breed, 
with thick necks, large heads, and long ears ; and one or two 
of the smaller dogs, now called terriers, which waited with 
impatience the arrival of the supper ; but, with the sagacious 
knowledge of physiognomy peculiar to their race, forbore to 
intrude upon the moody silence of their master, apprehensive 
probably of a small white truncheon which lay by Cedric’s 
trencher, for the purpose of repelling the advances of his four- 
legged dependants. One grisly old wolf-dog alone, with the 
liberty of an indulged favourite, had planted himself close by 


IVANHOE 


27 


the chair of state, and occasionally ventured to solicit notice 
by putting his large hairy head upon his master’s knee, or 
pushing his nose into his hand. Even he was repelled by the 
stern command, ^ Down, Balder — down! I am not in the 
humour for foolery.’ 

In fact, Cedric, as we have observed, was in no very placid 
state of mind. The Lady Eowena, who had been absent to 
attend an evening mass at a distant church, had but just re- 
turned, and was changing her garments, which had been wetted 
by the storm. There were as yet no tidings of Gurth and 
his charge, which should long since have been driven home 
from the forest ; and such was the insecurity of the period as 
to render it probable that the delay might be explained by 
some depredation of the outlaws, with whom the adjacent 
forest abounded, or by the violence of some neighbouring 
baron, whose consciousness of strength made him equally 
negligent of the laws of property. The matter was of conse- 
quence, for great part of the domestic wealth of the Saxon 
proprietors consisted in numerous herds of swine, especially in 
forest land, where those animals easily found their food. 

Besides these subjects of anxiety, the Saxon thane was im- 
patient for the presence of his favourite clown, Wamba, whose 
jests, such as they were, served for a sort of seasoning to his 
evening meal, and to the deep draughts of ale and wine with 
which he was in the habit of accompanying it. Add to all 
this, Cedric had fasted since noon, and his usual supper hour 
was long past, a cause of irritation common to country squires, 
both in ancient and modern times. His displeasure was ex- 
pressed in broken sentences, partly muttered to himself, partly 
addressed to the domestics who stood around; and particu- 
larly to his cupbearer, who offered him from time to time, as a 
sedative, a silver goblet filled with wine — ‘ Why tarries the 
Lady Eowena ? ’ 

‘ She is but changing her head-gear,’ replied a female 
attendant, with as much confidence as the favourite lady’s- 
maid usually answers the master of a modern family; ^you 
would not wish her to sit down to the banquet in her hood and 
kirtle ? and no lady within the shire can be quicker in arraying 
herself than my mistress.’ 

This undeniable argument produced a sort of acquiescent 
‘ Umph ! ’ on the part of the Saxon, with the addition, ^ I wish 
her devotion may choose fair weather for the next visit to St. 


IVANHOE 


28 

John’s Kirk. But what, in the name of ten devils/ continued 
he, turning to the cupbearer, and raising his voice, as if happy 
to have found a channel into which he might divert his indig- 
nation without fear or control — ^ what, in the name of ten 
devils, keeps Gurth so long a-field ? I suppose we shall have an 
evil account of the herd; he was wont to be a faithful and 
cautious drudge, and I had destined him for something better ; 
perchance I might even have made him one of my warders.’ * 

Oswald, the cupbearer, modestly suggested, ^ That it was 
scarce an hour since the tolling of the curfew ’ — an ill-chosen 
apology, since it turned upon a topic so harsh to Saxon ears. 

^ The foul fiend/ exclaimed Cedric, Hake the curfew-bell, 
and the tyrannical bastard by whom it was devised, and the 
heartless slave who names it with a Saxon tongue to a Saxon 
ear ! The curfew ! ’ he added, pausing — ‘ ay, the curfew, which 
compels true men to extinguish their lights, that thieves and 
robbers may work their deeds in darkness ! Ay, the curfew ! 
Reginald Front-de-Boeuf and Philip de Malvoisin know the 
use of the curfew as well as William the Bastard himself, or 
e’er a Korman adventurer that fought at Hastings. I shall 
hear, I guess, that my property has been swept off to save from 
starving the hungry banditti whom they cannot support but by 
theft and robbery. My faithful slave is murdered, and my 
goods are taken for a prey; and Wamba — ^where is Wamba? 
Said not some one he had gone forth with Gurth ? ’ 

Oswald replied in the affirmative. 

^Ay! why, this is better and better! he is carried off too, 
the Saxon fool, to serve the Korman lord. Fo lls are we all 
indeed that serve them, and fitter subjects for ti tir scorn and 
laughter than if we were born with but half our wits. But I 
will be avenged/ he added, starting from his chair in impa- 
tience at the supposed injury, and catching hold of his boar- 
spear ; ^ I will go with my complaint to the great council. I 
have friends, I have followers; man to man will I appeal the 
Korman to the lists. Let him come in his plate and his mail, 
and all that can render cowardice bold: I have sent such a 
javelin as this through a stronger fence than three of their 
war shields ! Haply they think me old ; but they shall find, 
alone and childless as I am, the blood of Hereward is in the 
veins of Cedric. Ah, Wilfred, Wilfred I ’ he exclaimed in a 
lower tone, ‘ couldst thou have ruled thine unreasonable pas- 
* See Cnichts. Note 3. 


IVANHOE 


29 


sion, thy father had not been left in his age like the solitary 
oak that throws out its shattered and unprotected branches 
against the full sweep of the tempest ! ^ The reflection seemed 
to conjure into sadness his irritated feelings. Keplacing his 
javelin, he resumed his seat, bent his looks downward, and 
appeared to be absorbed in melancholy reflection. 

From his musing, Cedric was suddenly awakened by the 
blast of a horn, which was replied to by the clamorous yells 
and barking of all the dogs in the hall, and some twenty or 
thirty which were quartered in other parts of the building. It 
cost some exercise of the white truncheon, well seconded by the 
exertions of the domestics, to silence this canine clamour. 

^ To the gate, knaves ! ^ said the Saxon, hastily, as soon as 
the tumult was so much appeased that the dependants could 
hear his voice. ^ See what tidings that horn tells us of : to 
announce, I ween, some hership and robbery which has been 
done upon my lands.’ 

Eeturning in less than three minutes, a warder announced, 
^That the Prior Aymer of Jorvaulx, and the good knight 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, commander of the valiant and vener- 
able order of Knights Templars, with a small retinue, 
requested hospitality and lodging for the night, being on their 
way to a tournament which was to be held not far from 
Ashby-de-la-Zouche on the second day from the present.’ 

^ Aymer — the Prior Aymer ! Brian de Bois-Guilbert ! ’ mut- 
tered Cedric — ^ Kormans both ; but Norman or Saxon, the 
hospitality of Eotherwood must not be impeached: they are 
welcome, since they have chosen to halt ; more welcome would 
they have been to have ridden further on their way. But it 
were unworthy to murmur for a night’s lodging and a night’s 
food ; in the quality of guests, at least, even Normans must 
suppress their insolence. Go, Hundebert,’ he added, to a sort 
of major-domo who stood behind him with a white wand ; Take 
six of the attendants and introduce the strangers to the guests’ 
lodging. Look after their horses and mules, and see their 
train lack nothing. Let them have change of vestments if they 
require it, and Are, and water to wash, and wine and ale ; and 
bid the cooks add what they hastily can to our evening meal ; 
and let it be put on the board when those strangers are ready 
to share it. Say to them, Hundebert, that Cedric would him- 
self bid them welcome, but he is under a vow never to step 
more than three steps from the dais of his own hall to meet 


30 


WAVEKLEY NOVELS 


any who shares not the blood of Saxon royalty. Begone ! see 
them carefully tended; let them not say in their pride, the 
Saxon churl has shown at once his poverty and his avarice.^ 
The major-domo departed with several attendants to exe- 
cute his master’s commands. ^ The Prior Aymer ! ’ repeated 
Cedric, looking to Oswald, ^ the brother, if I mistake not, of 
Giles de Mauleverer, now lord of Middleham ? ’ 

Oswald made a respectful sign of assent. ^ His brother sits 
in the seat, and usurps the patrimony, of a better race — the 
race of Ulfgar of Middleham; but what Norman lord doth not 
the same? This Prior is, they say, a free and jovial priest, 
who loves the wine-cup and the bugle-horn better than bell 
and book. Good; let him come, he shall be welcome. How 
named ye the Templar ? ’ 

^ Brian de Bois-Guilbert.’ 

^ Bois-Guilbert ! ’ said Cedric, still in the musing, half-argu- 
ing tone which the habit of living among dependants had 
accustomed him to employ, and which resembled a man who 
talks to himself rather than to those around him — ^ Bois-Guil- 
bert! That name has been spread wide both for good and 
evil. They say he is valiant as the bravest of his order; but 
stained with their usual vices — pride, arrogance, cruelty, and 
voluptuousness — a hard-hearted man, who knows neither fear 
of earth nor awe of heaven. So say the few warriors who have 
returned from Palestine. Well, it is but for one night; he 
shall be welcome too. Oswald, broach the oldest wine-cask; 
place the best mead, the mightiest ale, the richest morat, the 
most sparkling cider, the most odoriferous pigments * upon 
the board; fill the largest horns: Templars and abbots love 
good wines and good measure. Elgitha, let thy Lady Eowena 
know we shall not this night expect her in the hall, unless 
such be her especial pleasure.” 

^But it will be her especial pleasure,’ answered Elgitha, 
with great readiness, ^ for she is ever desirous to hear the 
latest news from Palestine.’ 

Cedric darted at the forward damsel a glance of hasty re- 
sentment ; but Eowena and whatever belonged to her were 
privileged, and secure from his anger. He only replied, 
^ Silence, maiden ; thy tongue outruns thy discretion. Say my 
message to thy mistress, and let her do her pleasure. Here, 
at least, the descendant of Alfred still reigns a princess.’ 

* See Morat and Pigment. Note 4. 


IVANHOE 


31 


Elgitha left the apartment. 

‘ Palestine ! ’ repeated the Saxon — ^ Palestine ! how many 
ears are turned to the tales which dissolute crusaders or hypo- 
critical pilgrims bring from that fatal land ! I too might ask 
— I too might inquire — I too might listen with a beating 
heart to fables which the wily strollers devise to cheat us into 
hospitality; but no — the son who has disobeyed me is no 
longer mine ; nor will I concern myself more for his fate than 
for that of the most worthless among the million^ that ever 
shaped the cross on their shoulder, rushed into excess and 
blood-guiltiness, and called it an accomplishment of the will 
of God.^ 

He knit his brows, and fixed his eyes for an instant on the 
ground; as he raised them, the folding doors at the bottom 
of the hall were cast wide, and preceded by the major-domo 
with his wand, and four domestics bearing blazing torches, the 
guests of the evening entered the apartment. 

COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

Cedric and his household are described, and the Norman sfuests are 
announced. To indicate that the interest is to culminate in the tourna- 
ment to be held at Ashby (a town in I<eicestershire), the place is again 
mentioned here. 

When is the tournament to occur ? 

What time of day is it ? 

Note all details respecting the appointments of the Saxon’s mansion, 
and then make a drawing of the hall. 

What survivals are there still of the old interior arrangements 7 

How is Cedric dressed ? 

How are his pride and jealousy accounted for ? 

Why is he especially irritated at this time ? 

What remark of Oswald the cupbearer stirs him up further ? 

What is Scott’s purpose in rufifting the feelings of Cedric ? 

Why does he not leave the dais to welcome his guests at the entrance ? 

Is there any good reason for his not wishing Rowena to appear ? 

Why should Rowena especially desire ‘ to hear the latest news from 
Palestine ? ’ 

How does Cedric view the Crusades ? 

In what way does he speak of his son ? 


CHAPTER IV 


With sheep and shaggy goats the porkers bled, 
And the proud steer was on the marble spread ; 
With fire prepared, they deal the morsels round, 
Wine rosy bright the brimming goblets crown’d. 


Disposed apart, Ulysses shares the treat ; 

A trivet table and ignobler seat. 

The Prince assigns 

Odyssey, Book XX. 

The Prior Aymer had taken the opportunity afforded him of 
changing his riding robe for one of yet more costly materials, 
over which he wore a cope curiously embroidered. Besides the 
massive golden signet ring which marked his ecclesiastical 
dignity, his lingers, though contrary to the canon, were loaded 
with precious gems; his sandals were of the finest leather 
which was imported from Spain; his beard trimmed to as 
small dimensions as his order would possibly permit, and his 
shaven crown concealed by a scarlet cap richly embroidered. 

The appearance of the Knight Templar was also changed; 
and, though less studiously bedecked with ornament, his dress 
was as rich, and his appearance far more commanding, than 
that of his companion. He had exchanged his shirt of mail 
for an under tunic of dark purple silk, garnished with furs, 
over which flowed his long robe of spotless white in ample 
folds. The eight-pointed cross of his order was cut on the 
shoulder of his mantle in black velvet. The high cap no 
longer invested his brows, which were only shaded by short 
and thick curled hair of a raven blackness, corresponding to 
his unusually swart complexion. Nothing could be more 
gracefully majestic than his step and manner, had they not 
been marked by a predominant air of haughtiness, easily 
acquired by the exercise of unresisted authority. 

These two dignified persons were followed by their respec- 
tive attendants, and at a more humble distance by their guide, 

32 


IVANHOE 


33 


whose figure had nothing more remarkable than it derived 
from the usual weeds of a pilgrim. A cloak or mantle of 
coarse black serge enveloped his whole body. It was in shape 
something like the cloak of a modern hussar, having similar 
flaps for covering the arms, and was called a ‘ sclaveyn,’ or 
‘ sclavonian.’ Coarse sandals, bound with thongs, on his bare 
feet ; a broad and shadowy hat, with cockle-shells stitched 
on its brim, and a long staff shod with iron, to the upper end 
of which was attached a branch of palm, completed the 
Palmer’s attire. He followed modestly the last of the train 
which entered the hall, and, observing that the lower table 
scarce afforded room sufficient for the domestics of Cedric and 
the retinue of his guests, he withdrew to a settle placed beside, 
and almost under, one of the large chimneys, and seemed to 
employ himself in drying his garments, until the retreat of 
some one should make room at the board, or the hospitality of 
the steward should supply him with refreshments in the place 
he had chosen apart. 

Cedric rose to receive his guests with an air of dignified 
hospitality, and, descending from the dais, or elevated part of 
his hall, made three steps towards them, and then awaited 
their approach. 

^ I grieve,’ he said, ^ reverend Prior, that my vow binds me 
to advance no farther upon this floor of my fathers, even to re- 
ceive such guests as you and this valiant Knight of the Holy 
Temple. But my steward has expounded to you the cause of 
my seeming discourtesy. Let me also pray that you will 
excuse my speaking to you in my native language, and that 
you will reply in the same if your knowledge of it permits ; if 
not, I sufficiently understand Norman to follow your meaning.’ 

^Vows,’ said the Abbot, ^must be unloosed, worthy frank- 
lin, or permit me rather to say, worthy thane, though the title 
is antiquated. Vows are the knots which tie us to Heaven — 
they are the cords which bind the sacrifice to the horns of the 
altar — and are therefore, as I said before, to be unloosed and 
discharged, unless our Holy Mother Church shall pronounce 
the contrary. And respecting language, I willingly hold com- 
munication in that spoken by my respected grandmother, 
Hilda of Middleham, who died in odour of sanctity, little 
short, if we may presume to say so, of her glorious namesake, 
the blessed Saint Hilda of Whitby — God be gracious to her 
soul ! ^ 


34 


IVANHOE 


When the Prior had ceased what he meant as a conciliatory 
harangue, his companion said briefly and emphatically, ^ I 
speak ever French, the language of King Eichard and his 
nobles ; but I understand English sufficiently to communicate 
with the natives of the country/ 

Cedric darted at the speaker one of those hasty and impa- 
tient glances which comparisons between the two rival nations 
seldom failed to call forth; but, recollecting the duties of 
hospitality, he suppressed further show of resentment, and, 
motioning with his hand, caused his guests to assume two 
seats a little lower than his own, but placed close beside him, 
and gave a signal that the evening meal should be placed upon 
the board. 

While the attendants hastened to obey Cedric’s commands, 
his eye distinguished Gurth, the swineherd, who, with his 
companion Wamba, had just entered the hall. ^ Send these 
loitering knaves up hither,’ said the Saxon, impatiently. And 
when the culprits came before the dais — ^ How comes it, 
villains, that you have loitered abroad so late as this? Hast 
thou brought home thy charge, sirrah Gurth, or hast thou left 
them to robbers and marauders ? ’ 

‘ The herd is safe, so please ye,’ said Gurth. 

^ But it does not please me, thou knave,’ said Cedric, ^ that 
I should be made to suppose otherwise for two hours, and sit 
here devising vengeance against my neighbours for wrongs 
they have not done me. I tell thee, shackles and the prison- 
house shall punish the next offence of this kind.’ 

Gurth, knowing his master’s irritable temper, attempted no 
exculpation; but the Jester, who could presume upon Cedric’s 
tolerance, by virtue of his privileges as a fool, replied for them 
both — ^ In troth, uncle Cedric, you are neither wise nor rea- 
sonable to-night.’ 

'How, sir!’ said his master; 'you shall to the porter’s 
lodge and taste of the discipline there if you give your foolery 
such license.’ 

' First let your wisdom tell me,’ said Wamba, ' is it just and 
reasonable to punish one person for the fault of another ? ’ 

' Certainly not, fool,’ answered Cedric. 

' Then why should you shackle poor Gurth, uncle, for the 
fault of his dog Fangs? for I dare be sworn we lost not a 
minute by the way, when we had got our herd together, which 
Fangs did not manage until we heard the vesper-bell.’ 


IVANHOE 


35 


^ Then hang up Fangs/ said Cedric, turning hastily towards 
the swineherd, ^ if the fault is his, and gejt thee another dog/ 
Under favour, uncle/ said the Jester, ^ that' were still 
somewhat on the bow-hand of fair justice; for it was no fault 
of Fangs that he was lame and could not gather the herd, but 
the fault of those that struck off two of his fore-claws, an 
operation for which, if the poor fellow had been consulted, he 
would scarce have given his voice/ 

‘ And who dared to lame an animal which belonged to my 
bondsman ? ^ said the Saxon, kindling in wrath. 

^ Marry, that did old Hubert/ said Wamba, ^ Sir Philip de 
Malvoisin’s keeper of the chase. He caught Fangs strolling in 
the forest, and said he chased the deer contrary to his master’s 
right, as warden of the walk.’ 

‘ The foul fiend take Malvoisin/ answered the Saxon, ‘ and 
his keeper both ! I will teach them that the wood was dis- 
forested in terms of the great Forest Charter. But enough of 
this. Go to, knave, — go to thy place; and thou, Gurth, get 
thee another dog, and should the keeper dare to touch it, I 
will mar his archery; the curse of a coward on my head, if I 
strike not off the forefinger of his right hand ! he shall draw 
bowstring no more. I crave your pardon, my worthy guests. 
I am beset here with neighbours that match your infidels. Sir 
Knight, in Holy Land. But your homely fare is before you ; 
feed, and let welcome make amends for hard fare.’ 

The feast, however, which was spread upon the board needed 
no apologies from the lord of the mansion. Swine’s flesh, 
dressed in several modes, appeared on the lower part of the 
board, as also that of fowls, deer, goats, and hares, and various 
kinds of fish, together with huge loaves and cakes of bread, 
and sundry confections made of fruits and honey. The smaller 
sorts of wild-fowl, of which there was abundance, were not 
served up in platters, but brought in upon small wooden spits 
or broaches, and offered by the pages and domestics who bore 
them to each guest in succession, who cut from them such a 
portion as he pleased. Beside each person of rank was placed 
a goblet of silver; the lower board was accommodated with 
large drinking-horns. 

When the repast was about to commence, the major-domo, 
or steward, suddenly raising his wand, said aloud — ^ Forbear ! 
Place for the Lady Eowena.’ A side-door at the upper end of 
the hall now opened behind the banquet table, and Eowena, 


36 IVANHOE 

followed by four female attendants, entered the apartment. 
Cedric, though surprised, and perhaps not altogether agreeably 
so, at his ward appearing in public on this occasion, hastened 
to meet her, and tq- conduct her, with respectful ceremony, to 
the elevated seat at his own right hand appropriated to the 
lady of the mansion. All stood up to receive her ; and, reply- 
ing to their courtesy by a mute gesture of salutation, she 
moved gracefully forward to assume her place at the board. 
Ere she had time to do so, the Templar whispered to the Prior, 
‘ I shall wear no collar of gold of yours at the tournament. 
The Chian wine is your own.^ 

^ Said I not so ? ’ answered the Prior ; ^ but check your 
raptures, the franklin observes you.^ 

Unheeding this remonstrance, and accustomed only to act 
upon the immediate impulse of his own wishes, Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert kept his eyes riveted on the Saxon beauty, more 
striking perhaps to his imagination because differing widely 
from those of the Eastern sultanas. 

Formed in the best proportions of her sex, Kowena was tall 
in stature, yet not so much so as to attract observation on 
account of superior height. Her complexion was exquisitely 
fair, but the noble cast of her head and features prevented the 
insipidity which sometimes attaches to fair beauties. Her 
clear blue eye, which sate enshrined beneath a graceful eye- 
brow of brown, sufficiently marked to give expression to the 
forehead, seemed capable to kindle as well as melt, to com- 
mand as well as to beseech. If mildness were the more 
natural expression of such a combination of features, it was 
plain that, in the present instance, the exercise of habitual 
superiority, and the reception of general homage, had given to 
the Saxon lady a loftier character, which mingled with and 
qualified that bestowed by nature. Her profuse hair, of a 
colour betwixt brown and flaxen, was arranged in a fanciful 
and graceful manner in numerous ringlets, to form which art 
had probably aided nature. These locks were braided with 
gems, and being worn at full length, intimated the noble 
birth and free-born condition of the maiden. A golden chain, 
to which was attached a small reliquary of the same metal, 
hung round her neck. She wore bracelets on her arms, which 
were bare. Her dress was an under-gown and kirtle of pale 
sea-green silk, over which hung a long loose robe, which 
reached to the ground, having very wide sleeves, which came 


IVANHOE 


37 


down, however, very little below the elbow. This robe was 
crimson, and manufactured out of the very finest wool. A veil 
of silk, interwoven with gold, was attached to the upper part 
of it, which could be, at the wearer’s pleasure, either drawn 
over the face and bosom after the Spanish fashion, or disposed 
as a sort of drapery round the shoulders. 

When Eowena perceived the Knight Templar’s eyes bent 
on her with an ardour that, compared with the dark caverns 
under which they moved, gave them the effect of lighted 
charcoal, she drew with dignity the veil around her face, as 
an intimation that the determined freedom of his glance was 
disagreeable. 

Cedric saw the motion and its cause. ^ Sir Templar,’ said 
he, ^the cheeks of our Saxon maidens have seen too little of 
the sun to enable them to bear the fixed glance of a cru- 
sader.’ 

^ If I have offended,’ replied Sir Brian, ^ I crave your pardon 
— that is, I crave the Lady Eowena’s pardon, for my humility 
will carry me no lower.’ 

^ The Lady Eowena,’ said the Prior, has punished us all, 
in chastising the boldness of my friend. Let me hope she 
will be less cruel to the splendid train which are to meet at 
the tournament.’ 

‘ Our going thither,’ said Cedric, ^ is uncertain. I love not 
these vanities, which were unknown to my fathers when 
England was free.’ 

‘Let us hope, nevertheless,’ said the Prior, ‘our company 
may determine you to travel thitherward ; when the roads are 
so unsafe, the escort of Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert is not to be 
despised.’ 

‘ Sir Prior,’ answered the Saxon, ‘ wheresoever I have 
travelled in this land, I have hitherto found myself, with the 
assistance of my good sword and faithful followers, in no re- 
spect needful of other aid. At present, if we indeed journey 
to Ashby-de-la-Zouche, we do so with my noble neighbour and 
countryman, Athelstane of Coningsburgh, and with such a 
train as would set outlaws and feudal enemies at defiance. I 
drink to you. Sir Prior, in this cup of wine, which I trust 
your taste will approve, and I thank you for your courtesy. 
Should you be so rigid in adhering to monastic rule,’ he added, 
‘ as to prefer your acid preparation of milk, I hope you will 
not strain courtesy to do me reason.’ 


38 


IVANHOE 


^ Nay/ said the Priest, laughing, ‘ it is only in our abbey 
that we confine ourselves to the lac dulce or the lac acidum 
either. Conversing with the world, we use the world’s fashion, 
and therefore I answer your pledge in this honest wine, and 
leave the weaker liquor to my lay-brother.’ 

^ And I,’ said the Templar, filling his goblet, ^ drink wassail 
to the fair Eowena; for since her namesake introduced the 
word into England, has never been one more worthy of such a 
tribute. By my faith, I could pardon the unhappy Vortigern, 
had he half the cause that we now witness for making ship- 
wreck of his honour and his kingdom.’ 

^ I will spare your courtesy. Sir Knight,’ said Rowena with 
dignity, and without unveiling herself; ‘or rather I will tax 
it so far as to require of you the latest news from Palestine, 
a theme more agreeable to our English ears than the compli- 
ments which your French breeding teaches.’ 

‘ I have little of importance to say, lady/ answered Sir 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, ‘ excepting the confirmed tidings of a 
truce with Saladin.’ 

He was interrupted by Wamba, who had taken his appro- 
priated seat upon a chair the back of which was decorated 
with two ass’s ears, and which was placed about two steps 
behind that of his master, who, from time to time, supplied 
him with victuals from his own trencher; a favour, however, 
which the Jester shared with the favourite dogs, of whom, as 
we have already noticed, there were several in attendance. 
Here sat Wamba, with a small table before him, his heels 
tucked up against the bar of the chair, his cheeks sucked up 
so as to make his jaws resemble a pair of nut-crackers, and his 
eyes half-shut, yet watching with alertness every opportunity 
to exercise his licensed foolery. 

‘These truces with the infidels/ he exclaimed, without 
caring how suddenly he interrupted the stately Templar, 
‘ make an old man of me ! ’ 

‘ Go to, knave, — how so ? ’ said Cedric, his features prepared 
to receive favourably the expected jest. 

‘ Because,’ answered Wamba, ‘ I remember three of them in 
my day, each of which was to endure for the course of fifty 
years ; so that, by computation, I must be at least a hundred 
and fifty years old.’ 

‘I will warrant you against dying of old age, however/ 
said the Templar, who now recognised his friend of the forest ; 


IVANHOE 


39 


^ I will assure you from all deaths but a violent one, if you 
give such directions to wayfarers as you did this night to the 
Prior and me.’ 

^ How, sirrah ! ’ said Cedric, ^ misdirect travellers ? We 
must have you whipt; you are at least as much rogue as 
fool.’ 

‘ I pray thee, uncle,’ answered the Jester, ^ let my folly for 
once protect my roguery. I did but make a mistake between 
my right hand and my left; and he might have pardoned a 
greater who took a fool for his counsellor and guide.’ 

Conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of the 
porter’s page, who announced that there was a stranger at the 
gate, imploring admittance and hospitality. 

‘ Admit him,’ said Cedric, ‘ be he who or what he may : 
a night like that which roars without compels even wild 
animals to herd with tame, and to seek the protection of man, 
their mortal foe, rather than perish by the elements. Let his 
wants be ministered to with all care ; look to it, Oswald.’ 

And the steward left the banqueting-hall to see the com- 
mands of his patron obeyed. 

COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

The preceding chapters comprise the introduction. In this chapter 
Saxon and Norman are brought face to face, and incidents occur that 
are to lead to conflict. The passions of Cedric are somewhat aroused, 
but grow calm under the agreeable manners of the Prior and the jests 
of Wamba. The situation is, however, fraught with peril. The Knight 
Templar keeps his eyes fixed on Rowena until she draws the veil 
around her face ; and the Palmer watches every motion as he sits by 
the hearth. 

Realise as carefully as you can the entire situation- the procession of 
the guests, their attire and bearing, their welcome by Cedric, their 
places at the table, and the entrance of Rowena just as the feast is to 
begin. 

What design has Scott in deferring the entrance of Rowena ? 

Describe her appearance and conduct. 

Describe a Saxon feast. What privileges are accorded to the jester ? 

What wager does the Prior win ? 

What character mentioned here by name is not yet introduced ? 

What object is served by closing the chapter before the stranger 
enters ? 


CHAPTEK V 


Hath not a Jew eyes ? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, 
senses, affections, passions ? Fed with the same food, hurt with the 
same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same 
meanSj warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer, as a 
Christian is? 

Merchant of Venice. 


Oswald, returning, whispered into the ear of his master, ^ It 
is a Jew, who calls himself Isaac of York; is it fit I should 
marshal him into the hall ? ’ 

‘ Let Gurth do thine office, Oswald,’ said Wamba with his 
usual effrontery : ^ the swineherd will be a fit usher to the J ew.’ 

^ St. Mary,’ said the Abbot, crossing himself, ‘ an unbeliev- 
ing Jew, and admitted into this presence ! ’ 

^ A dog Jew,’ echoed the Templar, ^to approach a defender 
of the Holy Sepulchre ? ’ 

^ By my faith,’ said Wamba, ^ it would seem the Templars 
love the Jews’ inheritance better than they do their company.’ 

^ Peace, my worthy guests,’ said Cedric ; ' my hospitality 
must not be bounded by your dislikes. If Heaven bore with 
the whole nation of stiff-necked unbelievers for more years 
than a layman can number, we may endure the presence of 
one Jew for a few hours. But I constrain no man to con- 
verse or to feed with him. Let him have a board and a morsel 
apart, — unless,’ he said smiling, ‘ these turban’d strangers will 
admit his society.’ 

' Sir Franklin,’ answered the Templar, ^ my Saracen slaves 
are true Moslems, and scorn as much as any Christian to hold 
intercourse with a Jew.’ 

‘ Now, in faith,’ said Wamba, ^ I cannot see that the wor- 
shippers of Mahound and Termagaunt have so greatly the 
advantage over the people once chosen of Heaven.’ 

‘ He shall sit with thee, Wamba,’ said Cedric ; ^ the fool and 
the knave will be well met.’ 

‘ The fool,’ answered Wamba, raising the relics of a gam- 
mon of bacon, ^ will take care to erect a bulwark against the 
knave.’ 


40 


IVANHOE 


41 


^ Hush/ said Cedric, ^ for here he comes/ 

Introduced with little ceremony, and advancing with fear 
and hesitation, and many a bow of deep humility, a tall thin 
old man, who, however, had lost by the habit of stooping much 
of his actual height, approached the lower end of the board. 
His features, keen and regular, with an aquiline nose, and 
piercing black eyes ; his high and wrinkled forehead, and long 
grey hair and beard, would have been considered as handsome, 
had they not been the marks of a physiognomy peculiar to a 
race which, during those dark ages, was alike detested by the 
credulous and prejudiced vulgar, and persecuted by the greedy 
and rapacious nobility, and who, perhaps owing to that very 
hatred and persecution, had adopted a national character in 
which there was much, to say the least, mean and unami- 
able. 

The Jew’s dress, which appeared to have suffered consider- 
ably from the storm, was a plain russet cloak of many folds, 
covering a dark purple tunic. He had large boots lined with 
fur, and a belt around his waist, which sustained a small knife, 
together with a case for writing materials, but no weapon. He 
wore a high square yellow cap of a peculiar fashion, assigned 
to his nation to distinguish them from Christians, and which 
he doffed with great humility at the door of the hall. 

The reception of this person in the hall of Cedric the Saxon 
was such as might have satisfied the most prejudiced enemy of 
the tribes of Israel. Cedric himself coldly nodded in answer 
to the Jew’s repeated salutations, and signed to him to take 
place at the lower end of the table, where, however, no one 
offered to make room for him. On the contrary, as he passed 
along the file, casting a timid, supplicating glance, and turn- 
ing towards each of those who occupied the lower end of the 
board, the Saxon domestics squared their shoulders, and con- 
tinued to devour their supper with great perseverance, paying 
not the least attention to the wants of the new guest. The 
attendants of the Abbot crossed themselves, with looks of pious 
horror, and the very heathen Saracens, as Isaac drew near 
them, curled up their whiskers with indignation, and laid 
their hands on their poniards, as if ready to rid themselves 
by the most desperate means from the apprehended contamina- 
tion of his nearer approach. 

Probably the same motives which induced Cedric to open 
his hall to this son of a neglected people would have made him 


42 


IVANHOE 


insist on his attendants receiving Isaac with more courtesy; 
but the Abbot had at this moment engaged him in a most 
interesting discussion on the breed and character of his fa- 
vourite hounds, which he would not have interrupted for mat- 
ters of much greater importance than that of a Jew going to 
bed supperless. While Isaac thus stood an outcast in the 
present society, like his people among the nations, looking in 
vain for w^elcome or resting-place, the Pilgrim, who sat by 
the chimney, took compassion upon him, and resigned his 
seat, saying briefly, ^ Old man, my garments are dried, my 
hunger is appeased; thou art both wet and fasting.’ So say- 
ing, he gathered together and brought to a flame the decaying 
brands which lay scattered on the ample hearth; took from 
the larger board a mess of pottage and seethed kid, placed it 
upon the small table at which he had himself supped, and, 
without waiting the J ew’s thanks, went to the other side of the 
hall, whether from unwillingness to hold more close communi- 
cation with the object of his benevolence, or from a wish to 
draw neat to the upper end of the table, seemed uncertain. 

Had there been painters in those days capable to execute 
such a subject, the Jew, as he bent his withered form and 
expanded his chilled and trembling hands over the Are, would 
have formed no bad emblematical personification of the Winter 
season. Having dispelled the cold, he turned eagerly to the 
smoking mess which was placed before him, and ate with a 
haste and an apparent relish that seemed to betoken long 
abstinence from food. 

Meanwhile the Abbot and Cedric continued their discourse 
upon hunting; the Lady Eowena seemed engaged in conversa- 
tion with one of her attendant females; and the haughty 
Templar, whose eye seemed to wander from the Jew to the 
Saxon beauty, revolved in his mind thoughts which appeared 
deeply to interest him. 

^ I marvel, worthy Cedric,’ said the Abbot, as their discourse 
proceeded, ^that, great as your predilection is for your own 
manly language, you do not receive the Norman-French into 
your favour, so far at least as the mystery of woodcraft and 
hunting is concerned. Surely no tongue is so rich in the 
various phrases which the field-sports demand, or furnishes 
means to the experienced woodman so well to express his 
jovial art.’ 

^ Good Father Aymer,’ said the Saxon, ^ be it known to you. 


IVANHOE 


43 


I care not for those over-sea refinements, without which I can 
well enough take my pleasure in the woods. I can wind my 
horn, though I call not the blast either a recheat or a mort; 
I can cheer my dogs on the prey, and I can flay and quarter 
the animal when it is brought down, without using the new- 
fangled jargon of curee, arbor, nombles, and all the babble of 
the fabulous Sir Tristrem.'’ * 

‘ The French,’ said the Templar, raising his voice with the 
presumptuous and authoritative tone which he used upon all 
occasions, ‘ is not only the natural language of the chase, but 
that of love and of war, in which ladies should be won and 
enemies defied.’ 

‘ Pledge me in a cup of wine. Sir Templar,’ said Cedric, 
^ and fill another to the Abbot, while I look back some thirty 
years to tell you another tale. As Cedric the Saxon then was, 
his plain English tale needed no garnish from French trouba- 
dours when it was told in the ear of beauty; and the field of 
Northallerton, upon the day of the Holy Standard, could tell 
whether the Saxon war-cry was not heard as far within the 
ranks of the Scottish host as the cri de guerre of the boldest 
Norman baron. To the memory of the brave who fought 
there ! Pledge me, my guests.’ He drank deep, and went on 
with increasing warmth — ^ Ay, that was a day of cleaving of 
shields, when a hundred banners were bent forward over the 
heads of the valiant, and blood flowed round like water, and 
death was held better than flight. A Saxon bard had called it 
a feast of the swords — a gathering of the eagles to the prey — 
the clashing of bills upon shield and helmet, the shouting of 
battle more joyful than the clamour of a bridal. But our 
bards are no more,’ he said; ^our deeds are lost in those of 
another race; our language — our very name — is hastening to 
decay, and none mourns for it save one solitary old man. Cup- 
bearer! knave, fill the goblets. To the strong in arms. Sir 
Templar, be their race or language what it will, who now bear 
them best in Palestine among the champions of the Cross ! ’ 

‘ It becomes not one wearing this badge to answer,’ said Sir 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert ; ^yet to whom, besides the sworn 
champions of the Holy Sepulchre, can the palm be assigned 
among the champions of the Cross ? ’ 

^ To the Knights Hospitallers,’ said the Abbot ; ^ I have a 
brother of their order.’ ^ 


* See Note 5. 


44 


IVANHOE 


‘I impeach not their fame/ said the Templar; 'neverthe- 
less ’ 

' I think, friend Cedric/ said Wamba, interfering, ' that had 
Eichard of the Lion’s Heart been wise enough to have taken 
a fool’s advice, he might have staid at home with his merry 
Englishmen, and left the recovery of J erusalem to those same 
Knights who had most to do with the loss of it.’ 

' Were there, then, none in the English army/ said the Lady 
Kowena, ' whose names are worthy to be mentioned with the 
Knights of the Temple and of St. J ohn ? ’ 

' Forgive me, lady/ replied De Bois-Guilbert ; ' the English 
monarch did indeed bring to Palestine a host of gallant 
warriors, second only to those whose breasts have been the 
unceasing bulwark of that blessed land.’ 

' Second to none/ said the Pilgrim, who had stood near 
enough to hear, and had listened to this conversation with 
marked impatience. All turned towards the spot from whence 
this unexpected asseveration was heard. ' I say/ repeated the 
Pilgrim in a firm and strong voice, ' that the English chivalry 
were second to none who ever drew sword in defence of the 
Holy Land. I say besides, for I saw it, that King Eichard 
himself, and five of his knights, held a tournament after the 
taking of St. John-de-Acre, as challengers against all comers. 
I say that, on that day, each knight ran three courses, and cast 
to the ground three antagonists. I add, that seven of these 
assailants were Knights of the Temple; and Sir Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert well knows the truth of what I tell you.’ 

It is impossible for language to describe the bitter scowl of 
rage which rendered yet darker the swarthy countenance of the 
Templar. In the extremity of his resentment and confusion, 
his quivering fingers griped towards the handle of his sword, 
and perhaps only withdrew from the consciousness that no 
act of violence could be safely executed in that place and pres- 
ence. Cedric, whose feelings were all of a right onward and 
simple kind, and were seldom occupied by more than one ob- 
ject at once, omitted, in the joyous glee with which he heard 
of the glory of his countrymen, to remark the angry confusion 
of his guest. 'I would give thee this golden bracelet. Pilgrim,’ 
he said, ' couldst thou tell me the names of those knights who 
upheld so gallantly the renown of merry England.’ 

' That will I do blythely/ replied the Pilgrim, ' and without 


IVANHOE 


45 


guerdon; my oath, for a time, prohibits me from touching 
gold/ 

will wear the bracelet for you, if you will, friend 
Palmer,’ said Wamba. 

^ The first in honour as in arms, in renown as in place,’ said 
the Pilgrim, ^ was the brave Richard, King of England.’ 

forgive him,’ said Cedric — 'I forgive him his descent 
from the tyrant Duke William.’ 

^The Earl of Leicester was the second,’ continued the 
Pilgrim. ^ Sir Thomas Multon of Gilsland was the third.’ 

^ Of Saxon descent, he at least,’ said Cedric, with exultation. 

^ Sir Foulk Doilly the fourth,’ proceeded the Pilgrim. 

^ Saxon also, at least by the mother’s side,’ continued Cedric, 
who listened with the utmost eagerness, and forgot, in part at 
least, his hatred to the Kormans in the common triumph of 
the King of England and his islanders. ^ And who was the 
fifth?’ he demanded. 

^ The fifth was Sir Edwin Turneham.’ 

^ Genuine Saxon, by the soul of Hengist ! ’ shouted Cedric. 
^And the sixth?’ he continued with eagerness — ^how name 
you the sixth ? ’ 

^ The sixth,’ said the Palmer, after a pause, in which he 
seemed to recollect himself, ^was a young knight of lesser 
renown and lower rank, assumed into that honourable com- 
pany less to aid their enterprise than to make up their num- 
ber ; his name dwells not in my memory.’ 

^ Sir Palmer,’ said Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, scornfully, 
^this assumed forgetfulness, after so much has been remem- 
bered, comes too late to serve your purpose. I will myself tell 
the name of the knight before whose lance fortune and my 
horse’s fault occasioned my falling: it was the Knight of 
Ivanhoe ; nor was there one of the six that, for his years, had 
more renown in arms. Yet this will I say, and loudly — ^that 
were he in England, and durst repeat, in this week’s tourna- 
ment, the challenge of St. John-de- Acre, I, mounted and 
armed as I now am, would give him every advantage of 
weapons, and abide the result.’ 

^ Your challenge would soon be answered,’ replied the 
Palmer, ^were your antagonist near you. As the matter is, dis- 
turb not the peaceful hall with vaunts of the issue of a conflict 
which you well know cannot take place. If Ivanhoe ever re- 
turns from Palestine, I will be his surety that he meets you.’ 


46 


IVANHOE 


^ A goodly security ! ’ said the Knight Templar ; ^ and what 
do you proffer as a pledge ? ’ 

^ This reliquary/ said the Palmer, taking a small ivory box 
from his bosom, and crossing himself, ^ containing a portion of 
the true cross, brought from the monastery of Mount Car- 
mel/ 

The Prior of Jorvaulx crossed himself and repeated a pater- 
noster, in which all devoutly joined, excepting the Jew, the 
Mahomedans, and the Templar; the latter of whom, without 
vailing his bonnet or testifying any reverence for the alleged 
sanctity of the relic, took from his neck a gold chain, which he 
flung on the board, saying, ‘ Let Prior Aymer hold my pledge 
and that of this nameless vagrant, in token that, w^hen the 
Knight of Ivanhoe comes within the four seas of Britain, he 
underlies the challenge of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, which, if he 
answer not, I will proclaim him as a coward on the walls of 
every Temple court in Europe/ 

^ It will not need/ said the Lady Eowena, breaking silence : 
^ my voice shall be heard, if no other in this hall is raised, in 
behalf of the absent Ivanhoe. I affirm he will meet fairly 
every honourable challenge. Could my weak warrant add 
security to the inestimable pledge of this holy pilgrim, I would 
pledge name and fame that Ivanhoe gives this proud knight 
the meeting he desires.^ 

A crowd of conflicting emotions seemed to have occupied 
Cedric and kept him silent during this discussion. Gratifled 
pride, resentment, embarrassment, chased each other over his 
broad and open brow, like the shadow of clouds drifting over a 
harvest-fleld ; while his attendants, on whom the name of the 
sixth knight seemed to produce an effect almost electrical, 
hung in suspense upon their master’s looks. But when 
Eowena spoke, the sound of her voice seemed to startle him 
from his silence. 

^ Lady/ said Cedric, ^ this beseems not ; were further pledge 
necessary, I myself, offended, and justly offended, as I am, 
would yet gage my honour for the honour of Ivanhoe. But 
the wager of battle is complete,- even according to the fantastic 
fashions of Korman chivalry. Is it not. Father Aymer? ’ 

^ It is/ replied the Prior ; ^ and the blessed relic and rich 
chain will I bestow safely in the treasury of our convent, until 
the decision of this warlike challenge.’ 

Having thus spoken, he crossed himself again and again. 


IVANHOE 


47 


and after many genuflections and muttered prayers, he deliv- 
ered the reliquary to Brother Ambrose, his attendant monk, 
while he himself swept up with less ceremony, but perhaps 
with no less internal satisfaction, the golden chain, and be- 
stowed it in a pouch lined with perfumed leather, which 
opened under his arm. ^ And now. Sir Cedric,^ he said, ^ my 
ears are chiming vespers with the strength of your good wine : 
permit us another pledge to the welfare of the Lady Eowena, 
and indulge us with liberty to pass to our repose.’ 

^ By the rood of Bromholme,’ said the Saxon, ^ you do but 
small credit to your fame. Sir Prior! Eeport speaks you a 
bonny monk, that would hear the matin chime ere he quitted 
his bowl ; and, old as I am, I feared to have shame in encoun- 
tering you. But, by my faith, a Saxon boy of twelve, in my 
time, would not so soon have relinquished his goblet.’ 

The Prior had his own reasons, however, for persevering in 
the course of temperance which he had adopted. He was not 
only a professional peacemaker, but from practice a hater of all 
feuds and brawls. It was not altogether from a love to his 
neighbour, or to himself, or from a mixture of both. On the 
present occasion, he had an instinctive apprehension of the 
fiery temper of the Saxon, and saw the danger that the reckless 
and presumptuous spirit of which his companion had already 
given so many proofs might at length produce some disagree- 
able explosion. He therefore gently insinuated the incapacity 
of the native of any other country to engage in the genial con- 
flict of the bowl with the hardy and strong-headed Saxons; 
something he mentioned, but slightly, about his own holy char- 
acter, and ended by pressing his proposal to depart to repose. 

The grace-cup was accordingly served round, and the guests, 
after making deep obeisance to their landlord and to the Lady 
Rowena, arose and mingled in the hall, while the heads of the 
family, by separate doors, retired with their attendants. 

^ Unbelieving dog,’ said the Templar to Isaac the Jew, as he 
passed him in the throng, ^ dost thou bend thy course to the 
tournament ? ’ 

^ I do so propose,’ replied Isaac, bowing in all humility, ^ if 
it please your reverend valour.’ 

‘ Ay,’ said the Knight, ^ to gnaw the bowels of our nobles 
with usury, and to gull women and boys with gauds and toys : 
I warrant thee store of shekels in thy Jewish scrip.’ 

^Kot a shekel, not a silver penny, not a halfling, so help 


48 


IVANHOE 


me the God of Abraham ! ^ said the J ew, clasping his hands. 
^ I go but to seek the assistance of some brethren of my tribe 
to aid me to pay the fine which the Exchequer of the Jews * 
have imposed upon me, Father Jacob be my speed ! I am an 
impoverished wretch: the very gaberdine I wear is borrowed 
from Reuben of Tadcaster.^ 

The Templar smiled sourly as he replied, ^Beshrew thee 
for a false-hearted liar ! ^ and passing onward, as if disdaining 
farther conference, he communed with his Moslem slaves in 
a language unknown to the bystanders. The poor Israelite 
seemed so staggered by the address of the military monk, that 
the Templar had passed on to the extremity of the hall ere he 
raised his head from the humble posture which he had 
assumed, so far as to be sensible of his departure. And when 
he did look around, it was with the astonished air of one at 
whose feet a thunderbolt has just burst, and who hears still 
the astounding report ringing in his ears. 

The Templar and Prior were shortly after marshalled to 
their sleeping apartments by the steward and the cupbearer, 
each attended by two torch-bearers and two servants carrying 
refreshments, while servants of inferior condition indicated to 
their retinue and to the other guests their respective places of 
repose. 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

The stranger proves to be Isaac of York (so called because he lives at 
York, one of the Jewish centres). I^ike the other guests, he is going 
south to Ashby. Observe carefully his reception by Saxon and Norman. 
The Palmer, leaving his place by the hearth, creeps near the head table, 
that he may watch the Templar ; and when the Templar, uttering a 
falsehood, places his order above the English knights for bravery, he 
fearlessly gives him the lie. At a great tournament held after the cap- 
ture of Acre (a seaport of Palestine taken by the Crusaders three years 
before), the Templars were completely overthrown. On that occasion 
Sir Brian was unhorsed by Ivanhoe. With this quarrel between the 
Templar and the Palmer in the Hall of Cedric, begin the real action of 
the romance ; from it issues the subsequent plot. Go over each inci- 
dent in the quarrel, leading up to the exchange of sureties. 

* In those days the Jews were subjected to an Exchequer, specially 
dedicated to that purpose, and which laid them under the most exorbi- 
tant impositions.— L. T. 


IVANHOE 


49 


What are the sureties on each side ? 

Describe the scene at the moment when the Palmer mentions the 
Knigfht of Ivanhoe. 

Has the Palmer recognised Sir Brian ? 

Why is the Prior anxious to draw Sir Brian from the angry scene ? 
What reason is given by Isaac of York for going to the tournament ? 
Is interest and curiosity drawn to any one character in this chapter ? 


CHAPTER VI 


To buy his favour I extend this friendship : 

If he will take it, so ; if not, adieu ; 

And, for my love, I pray you wrong me not. 

Merchant of Venice. 

As the Palmer, lighted by a domestic with a torch, past 
through the intricate combination of apartments of this large 
and irregular mansion, the cupbearer, coming behind him, 
whispered in his ear, that if he had no objection to a cup of 
good mead in his apartment, there were many domestics in 
that family who would gladly hear the news he had brought 
from the Holy Land, and particularly that which concerned 
the Knight of Ivanhoe. Wamba presently appeared to urge 
the same request, observing that a cup after midnight was 
worth three after curfew. Without disputing a maxim urged 
by such grave authority, the Palmer thanked them for their 
courtesy, but observed tlmt he had included in his religious 
vow an obligation never to speak in the kitchen on matters 
which were prohibited in the hall. 

^ That vow,’ said Wamba to the cupbearer, ^ would scarce 
suit a serving-man.’ 

The cupbearer shrugged up his shoulders in displeasure. 
^ I thought to have lodged him in the solere chamber,’ said he ; 
‘ but since he is so unsocial to Christians, e’en let him take the 
next stall to Isaac the Jew’s. Anwold,’ said he to the torch- 
bearer, ^ carry the Pilgrim to the southern cell. I give you 
good-night,’ he added, ^ Sir Palmer, with small thanks for 
short courtesy.’ 

^ Good-night, and Our Lady’s benison ! ’ said the Palmer, 
with composure; and his guide moved forward. 

In a small ante-chamber, into which several doors opened, 
and which was lighted by a small iron lamp, they met a 
second interruption from the waiting-maid of Rowena, who, 
saying in a tone of authority that her mistress desired to speak 
with the Palmer, took the torch from the hand of Anwold, 
and, bidding him await her return, made a sign to the Palmer 

50 


IVANHOE 


51 


to follow. Apparently he did not think it proper to decline 
this invitation as he had done the former ; for, though his ges- 
ture indicated some surprise at the summons, he obeyed it 
without answer or remonstrance. 

A short passage, and an ascent of seven steps, each of which 
was composed of a solid beam of oak, led him to the apartment 
of the Lady Rowena, the rude magnificence of which corre- 
sponded to the respect which was paid to her by the lord of the 
mansion. The walls were covered with embroidered hangings, 
on which different-coloured silks, interwoven with gold and 
silver threads, had been employed, with all the art of which the 
age was capable, to represent the sports of hunting and hawk- 
ing. The bed was adorned with the same rich tapestry, and 
surrounded with curtains dyed with purple. The seats had also 
their stained coverings, and one, which was higher than the 
rest, was accommodated with a footstool of ivory, curiously 
carved. 

No fewer than four silver candelabras, holding great waxen 
torches, served to illuminate this apartment. Yet let not 
modern beauty envy the magnificence of a Saxon princess. 
The walls of the apartment were so ill finished and so full of 
crevices, that the rich hangings shook to the night blast, and, 
in despite of a sort of screen intended to protect them from the 
wind, the flame of the torches streamed sideways into the air, 
like the unfurled pennon of a chieftain. Magnificence there 
was, with some rude attempt at taste; but of comfort there 
was little, and, being unknown, it was unmissed. 

The Lady Rowena, with three of her attendants standing at 
her back, and arranging her hair ere she lay down to rest, was 
seated in the sort of throne already mentioned, and looked as 
if born to exact general homage. The Pilgrim acknowledged 
her claim to it by a low genuflection. 

^ Rise, Palmer,^ said she graciously. ^ The defender of the 
absent has a right to favourable reception from all who value 
truth and honour manhood.^ She then said to her train, 
‘Retire, excepting only Elgitha; I would speak with this holy 
Pilgrim.’ 

The maidens, without leaving the apartment, retired to its 
further extremity, and sat down on a small bench against the 
wall, where they remained mute as statues, though at such a 
distance that their whispers could not have interrupted the 
conversation of their mistress. 


52 


IVANHOE 


‘ Pilgrim/ said the lady, after a moment’s pause, during 
which she seemed uncertain how to address him, ^you this 
night mentioned a name — I mean,’ she said with a degree of 
effort, " the name of Ivanhoe— in the halls where by nature and 
kindred it should have sounded most acceptably ; and yet such 
is the perverse course of fate, that of many whose hearts must 
have throbbed at the sound, I only dare ask you where, and 
in what condition, you left him of whom you spoke? We 
heard that, having remained in Palestine, on account of his 
impaired health, after the departure of the English army, he 
had experienced the persecution of the French faction, to 
whom the Templars are known to be attached.’ 

know little of the Knight of Ivanhoe,’ answered the 
Palmer, with a troubled voice. ^ I would I knew him better, 
since you, lady, are interested in his fate. He hath, I believe, 
surmounted the persecution of his enemies in Palestine, and is 
on the eve of returning to England, where you, lady, must 
know better than I what is his chance of happiness.’ 

The Lady Eowena sighed deeply, and asked more particu- 
larly when the Knight of Ivanhoe might be expected in his 
native country, and whether he would not be exposed to great 
dangers by the road. On the first point, the Palmer professed 
ignorance; on the second, he said that the voyage might be 
safely made by the way of Venice and Genoa, and from thence 
through France to England. ^ Ivanhoe,’ he said, ^ was so well 
acquainted with the language and manners of the French, that 
there was no fear of his incurring any hazard during that part 
of his travels.’ 

^ Would to God,’ said the Lady Eowena, ^ he were here safely 
arrived, and able to bear arms in the approaching tourney, in 
which the chivalry of this land are expected to display their 
address and valour. Should Athelstane of Coningsburgh ob- 
tain the prize, Ivanhoe is like to hear evil tidings when he 
reaches England. How looked he, stranger, when you last saw 
him ? Had disease laid her hand heavy upon his strength and 
comeliness ? ’ 

^ He was darker,’ said the Palmer, ^ and thinner than when 
he came from Cyprus in the train of Coeur-de-Lion, and care 
seemed to sit heavy on his brow; but I approached not his 
presence, because he is unknown to me.’ 

' He will,’ said the lady, ^ I fear, find little in his native land 
to clear those clouds from his countenance. Thanks, good 


IVANHOE 


53 


Pilgrim, for your information concerning the companion of 
my childhood. Maidens,^ she said, ' draw near : offer the sleep- 
ing-cup to this holy man, whom I will no longer detain from 
repose.’ 

One of the maidens presented a silver cup containing a rich 
mixture of wine and spice, which Eowena barely put to her 
lips. It was then offered to the Palmer, who, after a low 
obeisance, tasted a few drops. 

‘Accept this alms, friend,’ continued the lady, offering a 
piece of gold, ‘ in acknowledgment of thy painful travail, and 
of the shrines thou hast visited.’ 

The Palmer received the boon with another low reverence, 
and followed Elgitha out of the apartment. 

In the ante-room he found his attendant Anwold, who, 
taking the torch from the hand of the waiting-maid, conducted 
him with more haste than ceremony to an exterior and ignoble 
part of the building, where a number of small apartments, or 
rather cells, served for sleeping-places to the lower order of 
domestics, and to strangers of mean degree. 

‘ In which of these sleeps the Jew? ’ said the Pilgrim. 

‘ The unbelieving dog,’ answered Anwold, ‘ kennels in the 
cell next your holiness. St. Dunstan, how it must be scraped 
and cleansed ere it be again fit for a Christian ! ’ 

‘ And where sleeps Gurth, the swineherd ?’ said the stranger. 

‘ Gurth,’ replied the bondsman, ‘ sleeps in the cell on your 
right, as the Jew in that to your left; you serve to keep the 
child of circumcision separate from the abomination of his 
tribe. You might have occupied a more honourable place had 
you accepted of Oswald’s invitation.’ 

‘ It is as well as it is,’ said the Palmer ; ‘ the company, even 
of a Jew, can hardly spread contamination through an oaken 
partition.’ 

So saying, he entered the cabin allotted to him, and taking 
the torch from the domestic’s hand, thanked him and wished 
him good-night. Having shut the door of his cell, he placed 
the torch in a candlestick made of wood, and looked around 
his sleeping apartment, the furniture of which was of the 
most simple kind. It consisted of a rude wooden stool, and 
still ruder hutch or bed-frame, stuffed with clean straw, and 
accommodated with two or three sheepskins by way of bed- 
clothes. 

The Palmer, having extinguished his torch, threw himself. 


54 


IVANHOE 


without taking off any part of his clothes, on this rude couch, 
and slept, or at least retained his recumbent posture, till the 
earliest sunbeams found their way through the little grated 
window, which served at once to admit both air and light to 
his uncomfortable cell. He then started up, and after repeat- 
ing his matins and adjusting his dress he left it, and entered 
that of Isaac the Jew, lifting the latch as gently as he could. 

The inmate was lying in troubled slumber upon a couch 
similar to that on which the Palmer himself had passed the 
night. Such parts of his dress as the Jew had laid aside on 
the preceding evening were disposed carefully around his 
person, as if to prevent the hazard of their being carried off 
during his slumbers. There was a trouble on his brow amount- 
ing almost to agony. His hands and arms moved convulsively, 
as if struggling with the nightmare; and besides several 
ejaculations in Hebrew, the following were distinctly heard in 
the Norman-English, or mixed language of the country : ‘ For 
the sake of the God of Abraham, spare an unhappy old man ! 
I am poor, I am penniless ; should your irons wrench my limbs 
asunder, I could not gratify you ! ^ 

The Palmer awaited not the end of the Jew’s vision, but 
stirred him with his pilgrim’s staff. The touch probably asso- 
ciated, as is usual, with some of the apprehensions excited by 
his dream ; for the old man started up, his grey hair standing 
almost erect upon his head, and huddling some part of his gar- 
ments about him, while he held the detached pieces with the 
tenacious grasp of a falcon, he fixed upon the Palmer his keen 
black eyes, expressive of wild surprise and of bodily appre- 
hension. 

^ Fear nothing from me, Isaac,’ said the Palmer, ^ I come as 
your friend.’ 

^ The God of Israel requite you,’ said the J ew, greatly re- 
lieved; ‘I dreamed — but Father Abraham be praised, it was 
but a dream ! ’ Then, collecting himself, he added in his usual 
tone, ^ And what may it be your pleasure to want at so early an 
hour with the poor Jew ? ’ 

^ It is to tell you,’ said the Palmer, ^ that if you leave not 
this mansion instantly, and travel not with some haste, your 
journey may prove a dangerous one.’ 

^ Holy father ! ’ said the J ew, ^ whom could it interest to 
endanger so poor a wretch as I am ? ’ 

^ The purpose you can best guess,’ said the Pilgrim ; ^ but 


IVANHOE 


55 


rely on this, that when the Templar crossed the hall yester- 
night, he spoke to his Mussulman slaves in the Saracen lan- 
guage, which I well understand, and charged them this morn- 
ing to watch the journey of the Jew, to seize upon him when at 
a convenient distance from the mansion, and to conduct him to 
the castle of Philip de Malvoisin or to that of Keginald Front- 
de-Boeuf.’ 

It is impossible to describe the extremity of terror which 
seized upon the Jew at this information, and seemed at once to 
overpower his whole faculties. His arms fell down to his sides, 
and his head drooped on his breast, his knees bent under his 
weight, every nerve and muscle of his frame seemed to collapse 
and lose its energy, and he sunk at the foot of the Palmer, not 
in the fashion of one who intentionally stoops, kneels, or pros- 
trates himself to excite compassion, but like a man borne down 
on all sides by the pressure of some invisible force, which 
crushes him to the earth without the power of resistance. 

^ Holy God of Abraham ! ^ was his first exclamation, folding 
and elevating his wrinkled hands, but without raising his grey 
head from the pavement ; ^ Oh, holy Moses ! 0, blessed Aaron ! 
the dream is not dreamed for nought, and the vision cometh 
not in vain ! I feel their irons already tear my sinews ! I feel 
the rack pass over my body like the saws, and harrows, and 
axes of iron over the men of Kabbah, and of the cities of the 
children of Ammon ! ’ 

‘ Stand up, Isaac, and hearken to me,’ said the Palmer, who 
viewed the extremity of his distress with a compassion in 
which contempt was largely mingled ; ^ you have cause for your 
terror, considering how your brethren have been used, in order 
to extort from them their hoards, both by princes and nobles; 
but stand up, I say, and I will point out to you the means of 
escape. Leave this mansion instantly, while its inmates sleep 
sound after the last night’s revel. I will guide you by the 
secret paths of the forest, known as well to me as to any 
forester that ranges it, and I will not leave you till you are 
under safe conduct of some chief or baron going to the tour- 
nament, whose good-will you have probably the means of 
securing.’ 

As the ears of Isaac received the hopes of escape which this 
speech intimated, he began gradually, and inch by inch, as it 
were, to raise himself up from the ground, until he fairly rested 
upon his knees, throwing back his long grey hair and beard. 


56 


IVANHOE 


and fixing his keen black eyes upon the Palmer’s face, with a 
look expressive at once of hope and fear, not unmingled with 
suspicion. But when he heard the concluding part of the sen- 
tence, his original terror appeared to revive in full force, and 
he dropt once more on his face, exclaiming, I possess the 
means of securing good-will ! Alas ! there is but one road to 
the favour of a Christian, and how can the poor Jew find it, 
whom extortions have already reduced to the misery of Laz- 
arus ? ’ Then, as if suspicion had overpowered his other feel- 
ings, he suddenly exclaimed, ‘ For the love of God, young man, 
betray me not ; for the sake of the Great Father who made us 
all, Jew as well as Gentile, Israelite and Ishmaelite, do me no 
treason ! I have not means to secure the good-will of a Chris- 
tian beggar, were he rating it at a single penny.’ As he spoke 
these last words, he raised himself and grasped the Palmer’s 
mantle with a look of the most earnest entreaty. The Pilgrim 
extricated himself, as if there were contamination in the 
touch. 

^ Wert thou loaded with all the wealth of thy tribe,’ he said, 
^what interest have I to injure thee ? In this dress I am vowed 
to poverty, nor do I change it for aught save a horse and a 
coat of mail. Yet think not that I care for thy company, or 
propose myself advantage by it; remain here if thou wilt, 
Cedric the Saxon may protect thee.’ 

^ Alas ! ’ said the J ew, ^ he will not let me travel in his 
train. Saxon or Yorman will be equally ashamed of the poor 
Israelite; and to travel by myself through the domains of 

Philip de Malvoisin and Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf Good 

youth, I will go with you ! Let us haste — let us gird up our 
loins — let us flee ! Here is thy staff, why wilt thou tarry ? ’ 

^ I tarry not,’ said the Pilgrim, giving way to the urgency 
of his companion ; ^ but I must secure the means of leaving 
this place; follow me.’ 

He led the way to the adjoining cell, which, as the reader 
is apprised, was occupied by Gurth, the swineherd. ^ Arise, 
Gurth,’ said the Pilgrim — ^ arise quickly. Undo the postern 
gate, and let out the Jew and me.’ 

Gurth, whose occupation, though now held so mean, gave 
him as much consequence in Saxon England as that of 
Eumseus in Ithaca, was offended at the familiar and command- 
ing tone assumed by the Palmer. ^ The Jew leaving Pother- 
wood,’ said he, raising himself on his elbow and looking 


IVANHOE 


57 


superciliously at him, without quitting his pallet, ^ and travel- 
ling in company with the Palmer to boot ’ 

^ I should as soon have dreamt,^ said Wamba, who entered 
the apartment at the instant, ^ of his stealing away with a 
gammon of bacon/ 

^ Nevertheless,^ said Gurth, again laying down his head on 
the wooden log which served him for a pillow, ^ both Jew and 
Gentile must be content to abide the opening of the great gate ; 
we suffer no visitors to depart by stealth at these unseason- 
able hours/ 

^ Nevertheless,’ said the Pilgrim, in a commanding tone, 
^ you will not, I think, refuse me that favour/ 

So saying, he stooped over the bed of the recumbent swine- 
herd, and whispered something in his ear in Saxon. Gurth 
started up as if electrified. The Pilgrim, raising his finger in 
an attitude as if to express caution, added, ' Gurth, beware ; 
thou art wont to be prudent. I say, undo the postern; thou 
shalt know more anon/ 

With hasty alacrity Gurth obeyed him, while Wamba and 
the J ew followed, both wondering at the sudden change in the 
swineherd’s demeanour. 

^ My mule — my mule ! ’ said the Jew, as soon as they stood 
without the postern. 

‘ Petch him his mule,’ said the Pilgrim ; ^ and, hearest thou, 
let me have another, that I may bear him company till he is 
beyond these parts. I will return it safely to some of Cedric’s 

train at Ashby. And do thou he whispered the rest in 

Gurth’s ear. 

^Willingly — most willingly shall it be done,’ said Gurth, 
and instantly departed to execute the commission. 

^ I wish I knew,’ said Wamba, when his comrade’s back was 
turned, ^ what you Palmers learn in the Holy Land.’ 

^ To say our orisons, fool,’ answered the Pilgrim, ^ to repent 
our sins, and to mortify ourselves with fastings, vigils, and 
long prayers.’ 

' Something more potent than that,’ answered the J ester ; 
^for when would repentance or prayer make Gurth do a 
courtesy, or fasting or vigil persuade him to lend you a 'mule ? 
I trow you might as well have told his favourite black boar of 
thy vigils and penance, and wouldst have gotten as civil an 
answer.’ 

^ Go to,’ said the Pilgrim, ^ thou art but a Saxon fool/ 


58 


IVANHOE 


‘ Thou sayst well/ said the J ester ; ^ had I been born a 
Norman, as I think thou art, I would have had luck on my 
side, and been next door to a wise man/ 

At this moment Gurth appeared on the opposite side of the 
moat with the mules. The travellers crossed the ditch upon a 
drawbridge of only two planks’ breadth, the narrowness of 
which was matched with the straitness of the postern, and with 
a little wicket in the exterior palisade, which gave access to the 
forest. No sooner had they reached the mules, than the Jew, 
with hasty and trembling hands, secured behind the saddle a 
small bag of blue buckram, which he took from under his 
cloak, containing, as he muttered, ^ a change of raiment — only 
a change of raiment.’ Then getting upon the animal with 
more alacrity and haste than could have been anticipated from 
his years, he lost no time in so disposing of the skirts of his 
gaberdine as to conceal completely from observation the bur- 
den which he had thus deposited en croupe. 

The Pilgrim mounted with more deliberation, reaching, as 
he departed, his hand to Gurth, who kissed it with the utmost 
possible veneration. The swineherd stood gazing after the 
travellers until they were lost under the boughs of the forest 
path, when he was disturbed from his reverie by the voice of 
Wamba. 

‘Knowest thou,’ said the Jester, ^my good friend Gurth, 
that thou art strangely courteous and most unwontedly pious 
on this summer morning? I would I were a black prior or a 
barefoot palmer, to avail myself of thy unwonted zeal and 
courtesy; certes, I would make more out of it than a kiss of 
the hand.’ 

^Thou art no fool thus far, Wamba,’ answered Gurth, 
" though thou arguest from appearances, and the wisest of us 
can do no more. But it is time to look after my charge.’ 

So saying, he turned back to the mansion, attended by the 
J ester. 

Meanwhile the travellers continued to press on their journey 
with a despatch which argued the extremity of the Jew’s fears, 
since persons at his age are seldom fond of rapid motion. 
The Palmer, to whom every path and outlet in the wood ap- 
peared to be familiar, led the way through the most devious 
paths, and more than once excited anew the suspicion of the 
Israelite that he intended to betray him into some ambuscade 
of his enemies. 


IVANHOE 


59 


His doubts might have been indeed pardoned; for, except 
perhaps the flying flsh, there was no race existing on the earth, 
in the air, or the waters, who were the object of such an un- 
intermitting, general, and relentless persecution as the Jews of 
this period. Upon the slightest and most unreasonable pre- 
tences, as well as upon accusations the most absurd and 
groundless, their persons and property were exposed to every 
turn of popular fury; for No^ man, Saxon, Dane, and Briton, 
however adverse these races were to each other, contended 
which should look with greatest detestation upon a people 
whom it was accounted a point of religion to hate, to revile, to 
despise, to plunder, and to persecute. The kings of the Nor- 
man race, and the independent nobles, who followed their ex- 
ample in all acts of tyranny, maintained against this devoted 
people a persecution of a more regular, calculated, and self- 
interested kind. It is a well-known story of King John, that 
he confined a wealthy Jew in one of the royal castles, and daily 
caused one of his teeth to be torn out, until, when the jaw of 
the unhappy Israelite was half disfurnished, he consented to 
pay a large sum, which it was the tyrant’s object to extort 
from him. The little ready money which was in the country 
was chiefly in possession of this persecuted people, and the 
nobility hesitated not to follow the example of their sovereign 
in wringing it from them by every species of oppression, and 
even personal torture. Yet the passive courage inspired by the 
love of gain induced the Jews to dare the various evils to 
which they were subjected, in consideration of the immense 
profits which they were enabled to realise in a country natur- 
ally so wealthy as England. In spite of every kind of dis- 
couragement, and even of the special court of taxations al- 
ready mentioned, called the Jews’ Exchequer, erected for the 
very purpose of despoiling and distressing them, the Jews 
increased, multiplied, and accumulated huge sums, which 
they transferred from one hand to another by means of bills 
of exchange — an invention for which commerce is said to be 
indebted to them, and which enabled them to transfer their 
wealth from land to land, that, when threatened with oppres- 
sion in one country, their treasure might be secured in another. 

The obstinacy and avarice of the Jews being thus in a 
measure placed in opposition to the fanaticism and tyranny of 
those under whom they lived, seemed to increase in proportion 
to the persecution with which they were visited ; and the im- 


60 


IVANHOE 


mense wealth they usually acquired in commerce, while it 
frequently placed them in danger, was at other times used to 
extend their influence, and to secure to them a certain degree 
of protection. On these terms they lived ; and their character, 
influenced accordingly, was watchful, suspicious, and timid — 
yet obstinate, uncomplying, and skilful in evading the dangers 
to which they were exposed. 

When the travellers had pushed on at a rapid rate through 
many devious paths, the Palmer at length broke silence. 

^ That large decayed oak,’ he said, ‘ marks the boundaries 
over which Front-de-Boeuf claims authority; we are long 
since far from those of Malvoisin. There is now no fear of 
pursuit.’ 

‘ May the wheels of their chariots be taken off,’ said the J ew, 
‘ like those of the host of Pharaoh, that they may drive 
heavily ! But leave me not, good Pilgrim. Think but of that 
fierce and savage Templar, with his Saracen slaves; they will 
regard neither territory, nor manor, nor lordship.’ 

‘ Our road,’ said the Palmer, ^ should here separate ; for it 
beseems not men of my character and thine to travel together 
longer than needs must be. Besides, what succour couldst 
thou have from me, a peaceful pilgrim, against two armed 
heathens ? ’ 

‘ 0, good youth,’ answered the Jew, ‘ thou canst defend me, 
and I know thou wouldst. Poor as I am, I will requite it ; not 
with money, for money, so help me my Father Abraham! I 
have none ; but 

‘Money and recompense,’ said the Palmer, interrupting 
him, ‘ I have already said I require not of thee. Guide thee I 
can, and, it may be, even in some sort defend thee; since to 
protect a Jew against a Saracen can scarce be accounted un- 
worthy of a Christian. Therefore, Jew, I will see thee safe 
under some fitting escort. We are now not far from the town 
of Sheffield, where thou mayest easily find many of thy tribe 
with whom to take refuge.’ 

‘ The blessing of Jacob be upon thee, good youth ! ’ said the 
Jew; ‘in Sheffield I can harbour with my kinsman Zareth,, 
and find some means of travelling forth with safety.’ 

‘ Be it so,’ said the Palmer ; ‘ at Sheffield then we part, and 
half an hour’s riding will bring us in sight of that town.’ 

The half hour was spent in perfect silence on both parts; 
the Pilgrim perhaps disdaining to address the Jew, except in 


IVANHOE 


61 


case of absolute necessity, and the Jew not presuming to 
force a conversation with a person whose journey to the Holy 
Sepulchre gave a sort of sanctity to his character. They 
paused on the top of a gently rising bank, and the Pilgrim, 
pointing to the town of Sheffield, which lay beneath them, 
repeated the words, ^ Here, then, we part.’ 

^Not till you have had the poor Jew’s thanks,’ said Isaac; 
^ for I presume not to ask you to go with me to my kinsman 
Zareth’s, who might aid me with some means of repaying your 
good offices.’ 

^ I have already said,’ answered the Pilgrim, ^ that I desire 
no recompense. If, among the huge list of thy debtors, thou 
wilt, for my sake, spare the gyves and the dungeon to some 
unhappy Christian who stands in thy danger, I shall hold this 
morning’s service to thee well bestowed.’ 

^ Stay — stay,’ said the Jew, laying hold of his garment ; 
^ something would I do more than this — something for thyself. 
God knows the Jew is poor — ^yes, Isaac is the beggar of his 
tribe — but forgive me should I guess what thou most lackest at 
this moment.’ 

^ If thou wert to guess truly,’ said the Palmer, ^ it is what 
thou canst not supply, wert thou as wealthy as thou sayst thou 
art poor.’ 

^ As I say ! ’ echoed the J ew. ^ 0 ! believe it, I say but the 
truth; I am a plundered, indebted, distressed man. Hard 
hands have wrung from me my goods, my money, my ships, 
and all that I possessed. Yet I can tell thee what thou lack- 
est, and, it may be, supply it too. Thy wish even now is for a 
horse and armour.’ 

The Palmer started, and turned suddenly towards the Jew. 
^ What fiend prompted that guess? ’ said he, hastily. 

^Yo matter,’ said the Jew, smiling, ^so that it be a true 
one ; and, as I can guess thy want, so I can supply it.’ 

^But consider,’ said the Palmer, ^my character, my dress, 
my vow.’ 

^I know you Christians,’ replied the Jew, ^and that the 
noblest of you will take the staff and sandal in superstitious 
penance, and walk afoot to visit the graves of dead men.’ 

^ Blaspheme not, Jew! ’ said the Pilgrim, sternly. 

‘Forgive me,’ said the Jew; ‘I spoke rashly. But there 
dropt words from you last night and this morning that, like 
sparks from flint, showed the metal within ; and in the bosom 


62 


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of, that Palmer’s gown is hidden a knight’s chain and spurs of 
gold. They glanced as you stooped over my bed in the 
morning.’ 

The Pilgrim could not forbear smiling. ‘Were thy gar- 
ments searched by as curious an eye, Isaac,’ said he, ‘ what dis- 
coveries might not be made ? ’ 

‘No more of that,’ said the Jew, changing colour; and 
drawing forth his writing materials in haste, as if to stop the 
conversation, he began to write upon a piece of paper which he 
supported on the top of his yellow cap, without dismounting 
from his mule. When he had finished, he delivered the scroll, 
which was in the Hebrew character, to the Pilgrim, saying, ‘In 
the town of Leicester all men know the rich Jew, Kirjath 
Jairam of Lombardy; give him this scroll. He hath on sale 
six Milan harnesses, the worst would suit a crowned head ; ten 
goodly steeds, the worst might mount a king, were he to do 
battle for his throne. Of these he will give thee thy choice, 
with everything else that can furnish thee forth for the tour- 
nament ; when it is over, thou wilt return them safely — unless 
thou shouldst have wherewith to pay their value to the 
owner.’ 

‘But, Isaac,’ said the Pilgrim, smiling, ‘dost thou know 
that in these sports the arms and steed of the knight who is 
unhorsed are forfeit to his victor? Now I may be unfortu- 
nate, and so lose what I cannot replace or repay.’ 

The J ew looked somewhat astounded at this possibility ; but 
collecting his courage, he replied hastily, ‘ No — no — no. It is 
impossible — I will not think so. The blessing of Our Father 
will be upon thee. Thy lance will be powerful as the rod of 
Moses.’ 

So saying, he was turning his mule’s head away, when the 
Palmer, in his turn, took hold of his gaberdine. ‘ Nay, but, 
Isaac, thou knowest not all the risk. The steed may be slain, 
the armour injured ; for I will spare neither horse nor man. 
Besides, those of thy tribe give nothing for nothing; some- 
thing there must be paid for their use.’ 

The Jew twisted himself in the saddle, like a man in a fit 
of the colic; but his better feelings predominated over those 
which were most familiar to him. ^ I care not/ he said — ‘ I 
care not ; let me go. If there is damage, it will cost, you noth- 
ing; if there is usage money, Kirjath Jairam will forgive it 
for the sake of his kinsman Isaac. Fare thee well ! Yet, hark 


IVANHOE 


63 


thee, good youth,’ said he, turning about, ^ thrust thyself not 
too forward into this vain hurly-burly: I speak not for en- 
dangering the steed and coat of armour, but for the sake of 
thine own life and limbs.’ 

^ Gramercy for thy caution,’ said the Palmer, again smil- 
ing ; ‘ I will use thy courtesy frankly, and it will go hard with 
me but I will requite it.’ 

They parted, and took ditferent roads for the town of 
Sheffield. 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

Consider the scene between the Palmer and Rowena. 

What does Rowena imply when she says: 'Should Athelstane of 
Conins:sburgh obtain the prince, Ivanhoe is like to hear evil tidings 
when he reaches Rngland ’ ? 

What more do you learn here about Cedric’s mansion ? 

Where are the sleeping rooms for the women ? And where for the 
menials 7 

Why is the Palmer placed in a cell between Gurth and Isaac of York ? 

What was the social position of the Jews in Rngland at this time ? 

Give some specific instance of their persecution. 

.What does Isaac of York imagine in his dreams ? 

Do you now know what Sir Brian said to his Moslem slaves near the 
close of the last chapter ? 

Why should Sir Brian wish to have Isaac conveyed to the castle of a 
neighbouring Norman nobleman ? > 

Follow the journey of the Palmer and Isaac of York, looking up 
Sheffield on the map. 

Observe that Scott is already beginning to make use of Isaac of York 
as an element in the plot. What is written on the piece of paper that 
Isaac gives to the Palmer ? 

Do you suppose that the Palmer expected that the Jew would aid him 
in procuring horse and armour ? 


CHAPTER VII 


Knights, with a long retinue of their squires, 

In gaudy liveries march and quaint attires ; 

One laced the helm, another held the lance, 

A third the shining buckler did advance. 

The courser paw’d the ground with restless feet, 

And snorting foam’d and champ’d the golden bit. 

The smiths and armourers on palfreys ride, § 

Files in their hands and hammers at their side ; 

And nails for loosen’d spears, and thongs for shields provide. 

The yeomen guard the streets in seemly bands ; 

And clowns come crowding on, with cudgels in their hands. 

Palamon and Arcite. 

The condition of the English nation was at this time suffi- 
ciently miserable. King Richard was absent a prisoner, and 
in the power of the perfidious and cruel Duke of Austria. 
Even the very place of his captivity was uncertain, and his 
fate but very imperfectly known to the generality of his sub- 
jects, who were, in the meantime, a prey to every species of 
subaltern oppression. 

Prince John, in league with Philip of France, Cceur-de- 
Lion’s mortal enemy, was using every species of influence with 
the Duke of Austria to prolong the captivity of his brother 
Richard, to whom he stood indebted for so many favours. In 
the meantime, he was strengthening his own faction in the 
kingdom, of which he proposed to dispute the succession, in 
case of the King’s death, with the legitimate heir, Arthur Duke 
of Brittany, son of Geoffrey Plantagenet, the elder brother of 
John. This usurpation, it is well known, he afterwards ef- 
fected. His own character being light, profligate, and perfid- 
ious, John easily attached to his person and faction not only 
all who had reason to dread the resentment of Richard for 
criminal proceedings during his absence, but also the numer- 
ous class of ‘ lawless resolutes ’ whom the crusaders had turned 
back on their country, accomplished in the vices of the East, 
impoverished in substance, and hardened in character, and 
who placed their hopes of harvest in civil commotion. 

To these causes of public distress and apprehension must be 
64 


IVANHOE 


65 


added the multitude of outlaws who, driven to despair by the 
oppression of the feudal nobility and the severe exercise of 
the forest laws, banded together in large gangs, and, keeping 
possession of the forests and the wastes, set at defiance the 
justice and magistracy of the country. The nobles themselves, 
each fortified within his own castle, and playing the petty 
sovereign over his own dominions, were the leaders of bands 
scarce less lawless and oppressive than those of the avowed 
depredators. To maintain these retainers, and to support the 
extravagance and magnificence which their pride induced them 
to affect, the nobility borrowed sums of money from the Jews 
at the most usurious interest, which gnawed into their estates 
like consuming cankers, scarce to be cured unless when circum- 
stances gave them an opportunity of getting free by exercising 
upon their creditors some act of unprincipled violence. 

Under the various burdens imposed by this unhappy state 
of affairs, the people of England suffered deeply for the pres- 
ent, and had yet more dreadful cause to fear for the future. 
To augment their misery, a contagious disorder of a dangerous 
nature spread through the land; and, rendered more virulent 
by the uncleanness, the indifferent food, and the wretched 
lodging of the lower classes, swept off many, whose fate the 
survivors were tempted to envy, as exempting them from the 
evils which were to come. 

Yet, amid these accumulated distresses, the poor as well as 
the rich, the vulgar as well as the noble, in the event of a 
tournament, which was the grand spectacle of that age, felt as 
much interested as the half -starved citizen of Madrid, who has 
not a real left to buy provisions for his family, feels in the 
issue of a bull-feast. Neither duty nor infirmity could keep 
youth or age from such exhibitions. The passage of arms, as 
it was called, which was to take place at Ashby, in the county 
of Leicester, as champions of the first renown were to take the 
field in the presence of Prince J ohn himself, who was expected 
to grace the lists, had attracted universal attention, and an 
immense confluence of persons of all ranks hastened upon the 
appointed morning to the place of combat. 

The scene was singularly romantic. On the verge of a wood, 
which approached to within a mile of the town of Ashby, was 
an extensive meadow of the finest and most beautiful green 
turf, surrounded on one side by the forest, and fringed on the 
other by straggling oak-trees, some of which had grown to an 


66 


IVANHOE 


immense size. The ground, as if fashioned on purpose for the 
martial display which was intended, sloped gradually down on 
all sides to a level bottom, which was inclosed for the lists 
with strong palisades, forming a space of a quarter of a mile in 
length, and about half as broad. The form of the inclosure 
was an oblong square, save that the corners were considerably 
rounded off, in order to afford more convenience for the spec- 
tators. The openings for the entry of the combatants were at 
the northern and southern extremities of the lists, accessible 
by strong wooden gates, each wide enough to admit two horse- 
men riding abreast. At each of these portals were stationed 
two heralds, attended by six trumpets, as many pursuivants, 
and a strong body of men-at-arms, for maintaining order, and 
ascertaining the quality of the knights who proposed to engage 
in this martial game. ♦ 

On a platform beyond the southern entrance, formed by a 
natural elevation of the ground, were pitched five magnificent 
pavilions, adorned with pennons of russet and black, the 
chosen colours of the five knights challengers. The cords of 
the tents were of the same colour. Before each pavilion was 
suspended the shield of the knight by whom it was occupied, 
and beside it stood his squire, quaintly disguised as a salvage 
or silvan man, or in some other fantastic dress, according to 
the taste of his master and the character he was pleased to as- 
sume during the game.* The central pavilion, as the place of 
honour, had been assigned to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whose 
renown in all games of chivalry, no less than his connexion 
with the knights who had undertaken this passage of arms, 
had occasioned him to be eagerly received into the company 
of the challengers, and even adopted as their chief and leader, 
though he had so recently joined them. On one side of his 
tent were pitched those of Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf and 
Eichard [Philip] de Malvoisin, and on the other was the pa- 
vilion of Hugh de Grantmesnil, a noble baron in the vicinity, 
whose ancestor had been Lord High Steward of England in 
the time of the Conqueror and his son William Eufus. Ealph 
de Vipont, a knight of St. John of Jerusalem, who had some 
ancient possessions at a place called Heather, near Ashby-de- 
la-Zouche, occupied the fifth pavilion. From the entrance 
into the lists a gently, sloping passage, ten yards in breadth, 

* This sort of masquerade is supposed to have occasioned the introduc- 
tion of supporters into the science of heraldry. 


IVANHOE 


67 


led up to the platform on which the tents were pitched. It 
was strongly secured by a palisade on each side, as was the 
esplanade in front of the pavilions, and the whole was guarded 
by men-at-arms. 

The northern access to the lists terminated in a similar en- 
trance of thirty feet in breadth, at the extremity of which was 
a large inclosed space for such knights as might be disposed to 
enter the lists with the challengers, behind which were placed 
tents containing refreshments of every kind for their accom- 
modation, with armourers, farriers, and other attendants, in 
readiness to give their services wherever they might be neces- 
sary. 

The exterior of the lists was in part occupied by temporary 
galleries, spread with tapestry and carpets, and accommodated 
with cushions for the convenience of those ladies and nobles 
who were expected to attend the tournament. A narrow space 
betwixt these galleries and the lists gave accommodation for 
yeomanry and spectators of a better degree than the mere 
vulgar, and might be compared to the pit of a theatre. The 
promiscuous multitude arranged themselves upon large banks 
of turf prepared for the purpose, which, aided by the natural 
elevation of the ground, enabled them to overlook the galleries, 
and obtain a fair view into the lists. Besides the accommoda- 
tion which these stations afforded, many hundreds had perched 
themselves on the branches of the trees which surrounded the 
meadow; and even the steeple of a country church, at some 
distance, was crowded with spectators. 

It only remains to notice respecting the general arrange- 
ment, that one gallery in the very centre of the eastern side of 
the lists, and consequently exactly opposite to the spot where 
the shock of the combat was to take place, was raised higher 
than the others, more richly decorated, and graced by a sort of 
throne and canopy, on which the royal arms were emblazoned. 
Squires, pages, and yeomen in rich liveries waited around this 
place of honour, which was designed for Prince John and his 
attendants. Opposite to this royal gallery was another, ele- 
vated to the same height, on the western side of the lists ; and 
more gaily, if less sumptuously, decorated than that destined 
for the Prince himself. A train of pages and of young 
maidens, the most beautiful who could be selected, gaily 
dressed in fancy habits of green and pink, surrounded a throne 
decorated in the same colours. Among pennons and flags 


68 


IVANHOE 


bearing wounded hearts, burning hearts, bleeding hearts, bows 
and quivers, and all the commonplace emblems of the tri- 
umphs of Cupid, a blazoned inscription informed the spec- 
tators that this seat of honour was designed for La Royne de 
la Beaulte et des Amours, But who was to represent the 
Queen of Beauty and of Love on the present occasion no one 
was prepared to guess. 

Meanwhile, spectators of every description thronged forward 
to occupy their respective stations, and not without many 
quarrels concerning those which they were entitled to hold. 
Some of these were settled by the men-at-arms with brief 
ceremony ; the shafts of their battle-axes and pummels of their 
swords being readily employed as arguments to convince the 
more refractory. Others, which involved the rival claims of 
more elevated persons, were determined by the heralds, or by 
the two marshals of the field, William de Wyvil and Stephen 
de Martival, who, armed at all points, rode up and down the 
lists to enforce and preserve good order among the spectators. 

Gradually the galleries became filled with knights and 
nobles, in their robes of peace, whose long and rich-tinted man- 
tles were contrasted with the gayer and more splendid habits 
of the ladies, who, in a greater proportion than even the men 
tliemselves, thronged to witness a sport which one would have 
thought too bloody and dangerous to afford their sex much 
pleasure. The lower and interior space was soon filled by sub- 
stantial yeomen and burghers, and such of the lesser gentry 
as, from modesty, poverty, or dubious title, durst not assume 
any higher place. It was of course amongst these that the 
most frequent disputes for precedence occurred. 

‘ Dog of an unbeliever,^ said an old man, whose threadbare 
tunic bore witness to his poverty, as his sword, and dagger, and 
golden chain intimated his pretensions to rank — ^ whelp of a 
she-wolf ! darest thou press upon a Christian, and a Norman 
gentleman of the blood of Montdidier ? ^ 

This rough expostulation was addressed to no other than 
our acquaintance Isaac, who, richly and even magnificently 
dressed in a gaberdine ornamented with lace and lined with 
fur, was endeavouring to make place in the foremost row be- 
neath the gallery for his daughter, the beautiful Eebecca, who 
had joined him at Ashby, and who was now hanging on her 
father’s arm, not a little terrified by the popular displeasure 
which seemed generally excited by her parent’s presumption. 


IVANHOE 


69 


But Isaac, though we have seen him sufficiently timid on other 
occasions, knew well that at present he had nothing to fear. It 
was not in places of general resort, or where their equals were 
assembled, that any avaricious or malevolent noble durst offer 
him injury. At such meetings the Jews were under the pro- 
tection of the general law; and if that proved a weak assur- 
ance, it usually happened that there were among the persons 
assembled some barons who, for their own interested motives, 
were ready to act as their protectors. On the present occasion, 
Isaac felt more than usually confident, being aware that Prince 
J ohn was even then in the very act of negotiating a large loan 
from the Jews of York, to be secured upon certain jewels and 
lands. Isaac’s own share in this transaction was considerable, 
and he well knew that the Prince’s eager desire to bring it to 
a conclusion would ensure him his protection in the dilemma 
in which he stood. 

Emboldened by these considerations, the Jew pursued his 
point, and jostled the Yorman Christian without respect either 
to his descent, quality, or religion. The complaints of the old 
man, however, excited the indignation of the bystanders. One 
of these, a stout well-set yeoman, arrayed in Lincoln green, 
having twelve arrows stuck in his belt, with a baldric and 
badge of silver, and a bow of six feet length in his hand, turned 
short round, and while his countenance, which his constant ex- 
posure to weather had rendered brown as a hazel nut, grew 
darker with anger, he advised the Jew to remember that all 
the wealth he had acquired by sucking the blood of his misera- 
ble victims had but swelled him like a bloated spider, which 
might be overlooked while it kept in a corner, but would be 
crushed if it ventured into the light. This intimation, deliv- 
ered in Norman-English with a firm voice and a stern aspect, 
made the Jew shrink back ; and he would have probably with- 
drawn himself altogether from a vicinity so dangerous, had not 
the attention of every one been called to the sudden entrance 
of Prince John, who at that moment entered the lists, attended 
by a numerous and gay train, consisting partly of laymen, 
partly of churchmen, as light in their dress, and as gay in their 
demeanour, as their companions. Among the latter was the 
Prior of Jorvaulx, in the most gallant trim which a dignitary 
of the church could venture to exhibit. Fur and gold were not 
spared in his garments ; and the point of his boots, out-herod- 
ing the preposterous fashion of the time, turned up so very far 


70 


IVANHOE 


as to be attached not to his knees merely, but to his very girdle, 
and effectually prevented him from putting his foot into the 
stirrup. This, however, was a slight inconvenience to the gal- 
lant Abbot, who, perhaps even rejoicing in the opportunity to 
display his accomplished horsemanship before so many specta- 
tors, especially of the fair sex, dispensed with the use of these 
supports to a timid rider. The rest of Prince John’s retinue 
consisted of the favourite leaders of his mercenary troops, some 
marauding barons and profligate attendants upon the court, 
with several Knights Templars and Knights of St. John. 

It may be here remarked, that the knights of these two 
orders were accounted hostile to King Eichard, having adopted 
the side of Philip of France in the long train of disputes which 
took place in Palestine betwixt that monarch and the lion- 
hearted King of England. It was the well-known consequence 
of this discord that Kichard’s repeated victories had been 
rendered fruitless, his romantic attempts to besiege J erusalem 
disappointed, and the fruit of all the glory which he had ac- 
quired had dwindled into an uncertain truce with the Sultan 
Saladin. With the same policy which had dictated the conduct 
of their brethren in the Holy Land, the Templars and Hospi- 
tallers in England and Normandy attached themselves to the 
faction of Prince John, having little reason to desire the re- 
turn of Eichard to England, or the succession of Arthur, his 
legitimate heir. For the opposite reason. Prince John hated 
and contemned the few Saxon families of consequence which 
subsisted in England, and omitted no opportunity of mortify- 
ing and affronting them ; being conscious that his person and 
pretensions were disliked by them, as well as by the greater 
part of the English commons, who feared farther innovation 
upon their rights and liberties from a sovereign of John’s 
licentious and tyrannical disposition. 

Attended by this gallant equipage, himself well mounted, 
and splendidly dressed in crimson and in gold, bearing upon 
his hand a falcon, and having his head covered by a rich fur 
bonnet, adorned with a circle of precious stones, from which 
his long curled hair escaped and overspread his shoulders, 
Prince John, upon a grey and high-mettled palfrey, caracoled 
within the lists at the head of his jovial part}^ laughing loud 
with his train, and eyeing with all the boldness of royal criti- 
cism the beauties who adorned the lofty galleries. 

Those who remarked in the physiognomy of the Prince a 


IVATs^HOE 


71 


dissolute audacity, mingled with extreme haughtiness and in- 
difference to the feelings of others, could not yet deny to his 
countenance that sort of comeliness which belongs to an open 
set of features, well formed by nature, modelled by art to the 
usual rules of courtesy, yet so far frank and honest that they 
seemed as if they disclaimed to conceal the natural workings of 
the soul. Such an expression is often mistaken for manly 
frankness, when in truth it arises from the reckless indiffer- 
ence of a libertine disposition, conscious of superiority of birth, 
of wealth, or of some other adventitious advantage, totally un- 
connected with personal merit. To those who did not think 
so deeply, and they were the greater number by a hundred to 
one, the splendour of Prince John’s rheno (i. e. fur tippet), 
the richness of his cloak, lined with the most costly sables, his 
maroquin boots and golden spurs, together with the grace with 
which he managed his palfrey, were sufficient to merit clamor- 
ous applause. 

In his joyous caracole round the lists, the attention of the 
Prince was called by the commotion, not yet subsided, which 
had attended the ambitious movement of Isaac towards the 
higher places of the assembly. The quick eye of Prince John 
instantly recognized the Jew, but was much more agreeably 
attracted by the beautiful daughter of Zion, who, terrified by 
tlie tumult, clung close to the arm of her aged father. 

The figure of Eebecca might indeed have compared with 
the proudest beauties of England, even though it had been 
judged by as shrewd a connoisseur as Prince John. Her form 
was exquisitely symmetrical, and was shown to advantage by a 
sort of Eastern dress, which she wore according to the fashion 
of the females of her nation. Her turban of yellow silk suited 
well with the darkness of her complexion. The brilliancy of 
her eyes, the superb arch of her eyebrows, her well-formed 
aquiline nose, her teeth as white as pearl, and the profusion of 
her sable tresses, which, each arranged in its own little spiral 
of twisted curls, fell down upon as much of a lovely neck and 
bosom as a simarre of the richest Persian silk, exhibiting 
flowers in their natural colours embossed upon a purple 
ground, permitted to be visible — all these constituted a combi- 
nation of loveliness which yielded not to the most beautiful of 
the maidens who surrounded her. It is true, that of the golden 
and pearl-studded clasps which closed her vest from the throat 
to the waist, the three uppermost were left unfastened on 


72 


IVANHOE 


account of the heat, which something enlarged the prospect to 
which we allude. A diamond necklace, with pendants of in- 
estimable value, were by this means also made more conspicu- 
ous. The feather of an ostrich, fastened in her turban by an 
agraffe set with brilliants, was another distinction of the beau- 
tiful Jewess, scoffed and sneered at by the proud dames who 
sat above her, but secretly envied by, those who affected to 
deride them. 

the bald scalp of Abraham,’ said Prince J ohn, ^ yonder 
Jewess must be the very model of that perfection whose charms 
drove frantic the wisest king that ever lived! What sayest 
thou. Prior Aymer ? By the Temple of that wise king, which 
our wiser brother Richard proved unable to recover, she is the 
very Bride of the Canticles ! ’ 

^ The Rose of Sharon and the Lily of the Valley,’ answered 
the Prior, in a sort of snuffling tone ; ‘ but your Grace must 
remember she is still but a Jewess.’ 

‘ Ay ! ’ added Prince J ohn, without heeding him, ^ and there 
is my Mammon of unrighteousness too — ^the Marquis of Marks, 
the Baron of Byzants, contesting for place with penniless dogs, 
whose threadbare cloaks have not a single cross in their 
pouches to keep the devil from dancing there. By the body of 
St. Mark, my prince of supplies, with his lovely Jewess, shall 
have a place in the gallery ! What is she, Isaac ? Thy wife or 
thy daughter, that Eastern houri that thou lockest under thy 
arm as thou wouldst thy treasure-casket ? ’ 

^ My daughter Rebecca, so please your Grace,’ answered 
Isaac, with a low congee, nothing embarrassed by the Prince’s 
salutation, in which, however, there was at least as much 
mockery as courtesy. 

‘ The wiser man thou,’ said J ohn, with a peal of laughter, 
in which his gay followers obsequiously joined. ^ But, daugh- 
ter or wife, she should be preferred according to her beauty 
and thy merits. Who sits above there ? ’ he continued, bending 
his eye on the gallery. ^ Saxon churls, lolling at their lazy 
length ! Out upon them ! let them sit close, and make room 
for my prince of usurers and his lovely daughter. I’ll make 
the hinds know they must share the high places of the syna- 
gogue with those whom the synagogue properly belongs to.’ 

Those who occupied the gallery, to whom this injurious and 
unpolite speech was addressed, were the family of Cedric the 
Saxon, with that of his ally and kinsman, Athelstane of Con- 


IVANHOE 


73 


ingsburgh, a personage who, on account of his descent from 
the last Saxon monarchs of England, was held in the highest 
respect by all the Saxon natives of the north of England. But 
with the blood of this ancient royal race many of their infirm- 
ities had descended to A thel stane. He was comely in counte- 
nance, bulky and strong in person, and in the fiower of his 
age; yet inanimate in expression, dull-eyed, heavy-browed, 
inactive and sluggish in all his motions, and so slow in reso- 
lution, that the soubriquet of one of his ancestors was con- 
ferred upon him, and he was very generally called Athelstane 
the Unready. His friends — and he had many who, as well as 
Cedric, were passionately attached to him — contended that 
this sluggish temper arose not from want of courage, but 
from mere want of decision ; others alleged that his hereditary 
vice of drunkenness had obscured his faculties, never of a very 
acute order, and that the passive courage and meek good- 
nature which remained behind were merely the dregs of a 
character that might have been deserving of praise, but of 
which all the valuable parts had fiown off in the progress of 
a long course of brutal debauchery. 

It was to this person, such as we have described him, that 
the Prince addressed his imperious command to make place 
for Isaac and Eebecca. Athelstane, utterly confounded at an 
order which the manners and feelings of the times rendered so 
injuriously insulting, unwilling to obey, yet undetermined how 
to resist, opposed only the vis inertice to the will of J ohn ; and, 
without stirring or making any motion whatever of obedience, 
opened his large grey eyes and stared at the Prince with Sn 
astonishment which had in it something extremely ludicrous. 
But the impatient John regarded it in no such light. 

^ The Saxon porker,^ he said, ^ is either asleep or minds me 
not. Prick him with your lance. He Bracy,^ speaking to a 
knight who rode near him, the leader of a band of free com- 
panions, or condottieri; that is, of mercenaries belonging to 
no particular nation, but attached for the time to any prince 
by whom they were paid. There was a murmur even among 
the attendants of Prince John; but He Bracy, whose profes- 
sion freed him from all scruples, extended his long lance over 
the space which separated the gallery from the lists, and 
would have executed the commands of the Prince before Athel- 
stane the Unready had recovered presence of mind sufficient 
even to draw back his person from the weapon, had not Cedric, 


74 


IVANHOE 


as prompt as his companion was tardy, unsheathed, with the 
speed of lightning, the short sword which he wore, and at a 
single blow severed the point of the lance from the handle. 
The blood rushed into the countenance of Prince John. He 
swore one of his deepest oaths, and was about to utter some 
threat corresponding in violence, when he was diverted from 
his purpose, partly by his own attendants, who gathered 
around him conjuring him to be patient, partly by a general 
exclamation of the crowd, uttered in loud applause of the 
spirited conduct of Cedric. The Prince rolled his eyes in in- 
dignation, as if to collect some safe and easy victim; and 
chancing to encounter the firm glance of the same archer 
whom we have already noticed, and who seemed to persist in 
his gesture of applause, in spite of the frowning aspect which 
the Prince bent upon him, he demanded his reason for clam- 
ouring thus. 

always add my hollo,^ said the yeoman, ^when I see a 
good shot or a gallant blow.^ 

^ Sayst thou ? ^ answered the Prince ; ^ then thou canst hit 
the white thyself. I’ll warrant.’ 

woodsman’s mark, and at woodsman’s distance, I can 
hit,’ answered the yeoman. 

^ And Wat Tyrrel’s mark, at a hundred yards,’ said a voice 
from behind, but by whom uttered could not be discerned. 

This allusion to the fate of William Eufus, his grandfather 
[predecessor], at once incensed and alarmed Prince John. He 
satisfied himself, however, with commanding the men-at-arms, 
who surrounded the lists, to keep an eye on the braggart, 
pointing to the yeoman. 

^ By St. Grizzel,’ he added, ^ we will try his own skill, who 
is so ready to give his voice to the feats of others ! ’ 

shall not fly the trial,’ said the yeoman, with the com- 
posure which marked his whole deportment. 

" Meanwhile, stand up, ye Saxon churls,’ said the fiery 
Prince ; " for, by the light of Heaven, since I have said it, the 
J ew shall have his seat amongst ye ! ’ 

" By no means, an it please your Grace ! It is not fit for 
such as we to sit with the rulers of the land,’ said the Jew, 
whose ambition for precedence, though it had led him to dis- 
pute place with the extenuated and impoverished descendant 
of the line of Montdidier, by no means stimulated him to an 
intrusion upon the privileges of the wealthy Saxons. 


IVANHOE 


75 


^ Up, infidel dog, when I command you,’ said Prince John, 
‘or I will have thy swarthy hide stript off and tanned for 
horse-furniture ! ’ 

Thus urged, the Jew began to ascend the steep and narrow 
steps which led up to the gallery. 

‘ Let me see,’ said the Prince, ‘ who dare stop him ! ’ fixing 
his eye on Cedric, whose attitude intimated his intention to 
hurl the Jew down headlong. 

The catastrophe was prevented by the clown Wamba, who, 
springing betwixt his master and Isaac, and exclaiming, in 
answer to the Prince’s defiance, ‘ Marry, that will I ! ’ opposed 
to the beard of the Jew a shield of brawn, which he plucked 
from beneath his cloak, and with which, doubtless, he had 
furnished himself lest the tournament should have proved 
longer than his appetite could endure abstinence. Finding 
the abomination of his tribe opposed to his very nose, while 
the J ester at the same time flourished his wooden sword above 
his head, the Jew recoiled, missed his footing, and rolled down 
the steps — an excellent jest to the spectators, who set up a 
loud laughter, in which Prince John and his attendants 
heartily joined. 

‘Deal me the prize, cousin Prince,’ said Wamba; ‘I have 
vanquished my foe in fair fight with sword and shield,’ he 
added, brandishing the brawn in one hand and the wooden 
sword in the other. 

‘ Who and what art thou, noble champion ? ’ said Prince 
J ohn, still laughing. 

‘A fool by right of descent,’ answered the Jester; ‘I am 
Wamba, the son of Witless, who was the son of Weatherhrain, 
who was the son of an alderman.’ 

‘ Make room for the Jew in front of the lower ring,’ said 
Prince John, not unwilling, perhaps, to seize an apology to de- 
sist from his original purpose ; ‘ to place the vanquished beside 
the victor were false heraldry.’ 

‘Knave upon fool were worse,’ answered the Jester, ‘and 
Jew upon bacon worst of all.’ 

‘ Gramercy ! good fellow,’ cried Prince J ohn, ‘ thou pleasest 
me. Here, Isaac, lend me a handful of byzants.’ 

As the Jew, stunned by the request, afraid to refuse and 
unwilling to comply, fumbled in the furred bag which hung by 
his girdle, and was perhaps endeavouring to ascertain how few 
coins might pass for a handful, the Prince stooped from his 


76 


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jennet and settled Isaac’s doubts by snatching the pouch itself 
from his side; and flinging to Wamba a couple of the gold 
pieces which it contained, he pursued his career round the 
lists, leaving the J ew to the derision of those around him, and 
himself receiving as much applause from the spectators as if 
he had done some honest and honourable action. 

COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

Before describing: the lists at Ashby (see map), Scott sets before the 
reader the state of Bng:land during the absence of King Richard. 

What are the schemes of Prince John ? 

Who belong to his faction ? 

Why are the various orders of Knights for him and against Richard 
and the Saxons ? 

What explanation is offered for the persecutions of the Jews ? 

Do you now see why Sir Brian was inclined to disparage Richard in 
the Hall of Cedric? 

Was Scott right in prefixing to this chapter these introductory scenes ? 

What new characters are introduced ? 

Observe the yeoman and Athelstane. 

Contrast Rowena and Rebecca. 

What fine act by Cedric ? 

What comic element in the scene ? 

What brutality ? 

Draw a sketch of the lists. 


CHAPTEE VIII 


At this the challenger with fierce defy 

His trumpet sounds ; the challenged makes reply. 

With clangour rings the field, resounds the vaulted sky. 

Their visors closed, their lances in the rest. 

Or at the helmet pointed or the crest. 

They vanish from the barrier, speed the race. 

And spurring see decrease the middle space. 

Palamon and Arcite. 

In the midst of Prince John’s cavalcade, he suddenly stopt, 
and, appealing to the Prior of Jorvaulx, declared the prin- 
cipal business of the day had been forgotten. 

^ By my halidom,’ said he, ^ we have neglected. Sir Prior, to 
name the fair Sovereign of Love and of Beauty, by whose 
white hand the palm is to be distributed. For my part, I am 
liberal in my ideas, and I care not if I give my vote for the 
black-eyed Eebecca.’ 

^ Holy Virgin,’ answered the Prior, turning up his eyes in 
horror, ^ a J ewess ! We should deserve to be stoned out of the 
lists; and I am not yet old enough to be a martyr. Besides, 
I swear by my patron saint that she is far inferior to the lovely 
Saxon, Eowena.’ 

^ Saxon or Jew,’ answered the Prince — ^ Saxon or Jew, dog 
or hog, what matters it ! I say, name Kebecca, were it only to 
mortify the Saxon churls.’ 

A murmur arose even among his own immediate attendants. 

^This passes a jest, my lord,’ said De Bracy; ^no knight 
here will lay lance in rest if such an insult is attempted.’ 

^ It is the mere wantonness of insult,’ said one of the oldest 
and most important of Prince John’s followers, Waldemar 
Fitzurse, ^and if your Grace attempt it, cannot but prove 
ruinous to your projects.’ 

^I entertained you, sir,’ said John, reining up his palfrey 
haughtily, ^ for my follower, but not for my counsellor.’ 

^ Those who follow your Grace in the paths which you tread,’ 
said Waldemar, but speaking in a low voice, ^ acquire the right 

77 


78 


IVANHOE 


of counsellors; for your interest and safety are not more 
deeply gaged than their own.’ 

From the tone in which this was spoken, John saw the 
necessity of acquiescence. ^ I did but jest,’ he said ; ^ and you 
turn upon me like so many adders ! Name whom you will, in 
the fiend’s name, and please yourselves.’ 

^ Nay, nay,’ said De Bracy, ^ let the fair sovereign’s throne 
remain unoccupied until the conqueror shall be named, and 
then let him choose the lady by whom it shall be filled. It 
will add another grace to his triumph, and teach fair ladies to 
prize the love of valiant knights, who can exalt them to such 
distinction.’ 

^ If Brian de Bois-Guilbert gain the prize,’ said the Prior, ^ I 
will gage my rosary that I name the Sovereign of Love and 
Beauty.’ 

‘Bois-Guilbert,’ answered De Bracy, ‘is a good lance; but 
there are others around these lists. Sir Prior, who will not fear 
to encounter him.’ 

‘ Silence, sirs,’ said Waldemar, ‘ and let the Prince assume 
his seat. The knights and spectators are alike impatient, the 
time advances, and highly fit it is that the sports should 
commence.’ 

Prince John, though not yet a monarch, had in Waldemar 
Fitzurse all the inconveniences of a favourite minister, who, in 
serving his sovereign, must always do so in his own way. The 
Prince acquiesced, however, although his disposition was pre- 
cisely of that kind which is apt to be obstinate upon trifies, 
and, assuming his throne, and being surrounded by his follow- 
ers, gave signal to the heralds to proclaim the laws of the 
tournament, which were briefly as follows : 

First, the five challengers were to undertake all comers. 

Secondly, any knight proposing to combat might, if he 
pleased, select a special antagonist from among the chal- 
lengers, by touching his shield. If he did so with the reverse 
of his lance, the trial of skill was made with what were called 
the arms of courtesy, that is, with lances at whose extremity a 
piece of round flat board was fixed, so that no danger was 
encountered, save from the shock of the horses and riders. 
But if the shield was touched with the sharp end of the lance, 
the combat was understood to be at outran ce, that is, the 
knights were to fight with sharp weapons, as in actual battle. 

Thirdly, when the knights present had accomplished their 


IVANHOE 


79 


vow, by each of them breaking five lances, the Prince was to 
declare the victor in the first day’s tourney, who should receive 
as prize a war-horse of exquisite beauty and matchless 
strength ; and in addition to this reward of valour, it was now 
declared, he should have the peculiar honour of naming the 
Queen of Love and Beauty, by whom the prize should be given 
on the ensuing day. 

Fourthly, it was announced that, on the second day, there 
should be a general tournament, in which all the knights 
present, who were desirous to win praise, might take part; 
and being divided into two bands, of equal numbers, might 
fight it out manfully until the signal was given by Prince John 
to cease the combat. The elected Queen of Love and Beauty 
was then to crown the knight, whom the Prince should ad- 
judge to have borne himself best in this second day, with a 
coronet composed of thin gold plate, cut into the shape of a 
laurel crown. On this second day the knightly games ceased. 
But on that which was to follow, feasts of archery, of bull- 
baiting, and other popular amusements were to be practised, 
for the more immediate amusement of the populace. In this 
manner did Prince John endeavour to lay the foundation of a 
popularity which he was perpetually throwing down by some 
inconsiderate act of wanton aggression upon the feelings and 
prejudices of the people. 

The lists now presented a most splendid spectacle. The 
sloping galleries were crowded with all that was noble, great, 
wealthy, and beautiful in the northern and midland parts of 
England; and the contrast of the various dresses of these 
dignified spectators rendered the view as gay as it was rich, 
while the interior and lower space, filled with the substantial 
burgesses and yeomen of merry England, formed, in their 
more plain attire, a dark fringe, or border, around this circle 
of brilliant embroidery, relieving, and at the same time setting 
off, its splendour. 

The heralds finished their proclamation with their usual 
cry of ‘ Largesse, largesse, gallant knights ! ’ and gold and 
silver pieces were showered on them from the galleries, it 
being a high point of chivalry to exhibit liberality towards 
those whom the age accounted at once the secretaries and the 
historians of honour. The bounty of the spectators was ac- 
knowledged by the customary shouts of ^Love of ladies — 
Death of champions — Honour to the generous — Glory to the 


80 


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brave ! ’ To which the more humble spectators added their 
acclamations, and a numerous band of trumpeters the flourish 
of their martial instruments. When these sounds had ceased, 
the heralds withdrew from the lists in gay and glittering 
procession, and none remained within them save the marshals 
of the fleld, who, armed cap-a-pie, sat on horseback, motionless 
as statues, at the opposite ends of the lists. Meantime, the 
inclosed space at the northern extremity of the lists, large as 
it was, was now completely crowded with knights desirous to 
prove their skill against the challengers, and, when viewed 
from the galleries, presented the appearance of a sea of waving 
plumage, intermixed with glistening helmets and tall lances, 
to the extremities of which were, in many cases, attached 
small pennons of about a span’s breadth, which, fluttering in 
the air as the breeze caught them, joined with the restless 
motion of the feathers to add liveliness to the scene. 

At length the barriers were opened, and flve knights, chosen 
by lot, advanced slowly into the arena; a single champion 
riding in front, and the other four following in pairs. All 
were splendidly armed, and my Saxon authority (in the 
Wardour Manuscript) records at great length their devices, 
their colours, and the embroidery of their horse trappings. 
It is unnecessary to be particular on these subjects. To 
borrow lines from a contemporary poet, who has written but 
too little — 

The knights are dust, 

And their good swords are rust, 

Their souls are with the saints, we trust.* 

Their escutcheons have long mouldered from the walls of their 
castles. Their castles themselves are but green mounds and 
shattered ruins : the place that once knew them, knows them 
no more — nay, many a race since theirs has died out and been 
forgotten in the very land which they occupied with all the 
authority of feudal proprietors and feudal lords. What, then, 
would it avail the reader to know their names, or the eva- 
nescent symbols of their martial rank ? 

Now, however, no whit anticipating the oblivion which 
awaited their names and feasts, the champions advanced 
through the lists, restraining their flery steeds, and compelling 
them to move slowly, while, at the same time, they exhibited 
their paces, together with the grace and dexterity of the 
* See Lines from Coleridge. Note 6. 


IVANHOE 


81 


riders. As the procession entered the lists, the sound of a 
wild barbaric music was heard from behind the tents of the 
challengers, where the performers were concealed. It was of 
Eastern origin, having been brought from the Holy Land; 
and the mixture of the cymbals and bells seemed to bid wel- 
come at once, and defiance, to the knights as they advanced. 
With the eyes of an immense concourse of spectators fixed 
upon them, the five knights advanced up the platform upon 
which the tents of the challengers stood, and there separating 
themselves, each touched slightly, and with the reverse of his 
lance, the shield of the antagonist to whom he wished to oppose 
himself. The lower order of spectators in general — nay, many 
of the higher class, and it is even said several of the ladies — 
were rather disappointed at the champions choosing the arms 
of courtesy. For the same sort of persons who, in the present 
day, applaud most highly the deepest tragedies were then in- 
terested in a tournament exactly in proportion to the danger 
incurred by the champions engaged. 

Having intimated their more pacific purpose, the champions 
retreated to the extremity of the lists, where they remained 
drawn up in a line ; while the challengers, sallying each from 
his pavilion, mounted their horses, and, headed by Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, descended from the platform and opposed them- 
selves individually to the knights who had touched their re- 
spective shields. 

At the flourish of clarions and trumpets, they started out 
against each other at full gallop; and such was the superior 
dexterity or good fortune of the challengers, that those op- 
posed to Bois-Guilbert, Malvoisin, and Front-de-Boeuf rolled 
on the ground. The antagonist of Grantmesnil, instead of 
bearing his lance-point fair against the crest or the shield of 
his enemy, swerved so much from the direct line as to break 
the weapon athwart the person of his opponent — a circum- 
stance which was accounted more disgraceful than that of 
being actually unhorsed, because the latter might happen 
from accident, whereas the former evinced awkwardness and 
want of management of the weapon and of the horse. The 
fifth knight alone maintained the honour of his party, and 
parted fairly with the Knight of St. John, both splintering 
their lances without advantage on either side. 

The shouts of the multitude, together with the acclama- 
tions of the heralds and the clamour of the trumpets, an- 


82 


IVANHOE 


nounced the triumph of the victors and the defeat of the 
vanquished. The former retreated to their pavilions, and the 
latter, gathering themselves up as they could, withdrew from 
the lists in disgrace and dejection, to agree with their victors 
concerning the redemption of their arms and their horses, 
which, according to the laws of the tournament, they had 
forfeited. The fifth of their number alone tarried in the lists 
long enough to be greeted by the applauses of the spectators, 
amongst whom he retreated, to the aggravation, doubtless, of 
his companions’ mortification. 

A second and a third party of knights took the field ; »and 
although they had various success, yet, upon the whole, the 
advantage decidedly remained with the challengers, not one 
of whom lost his seat or swerved from his charge — misfortunes 
which befel one or two of their antagonists in each encounter. 
The spirits, therefore, of those opposed to them seemed to be 
considerably damped by their continued success. Three 
knights only appeared on the fourth entry, who, avoiding the 
shields of Bois-Guilbert and Front-de-Boeuf, contented them- 
selves with touching those of the three other knights who had 
not altogether manifested the same strength and dexterity. 
This politic selection did not alter the fortune of the field : the 
challengers were still successful. One of their antagonists was 
overthrown; and both the others failed in the attaint* that 
is, in striking the helmet and shield of their antagonist firmly 
and strongly, with the lance held in a direct line, so that 
the weapon might break unless the champion was over- 
thrown. 

After this fourth encounter, there was a considerable pause ; 
nor did it appear that any one was very desirous of renewing 
the contest. The spectators murmured among themselves ; for, 
among the challengers, Malvoisin and Front-de-Boeuf were un- 
popular from their characters, and the others, except Grant- 
mesnil, were disliked as strangers and foreigners. 

But none shared the general feeling of dissatisfaction so 
keenly as Cedric the Saxon, who saw, in each advantage gained 
by the Norman challengers, a repeated triumph over the 
honour of England. His own education had taught him no 
skill in the games of chivalry, although, with the arms of his 
Saxon ancestors, he had manifested himself, on many occa- 

* This term of chivalry transferred to the law gives the phrase of 
being attainted of treason. 


IVANHOE 


83 


sions, a brave and determined soldier. He looked anxiously to 
Athelstane, who had learned the accomplishments of the age, 
as if desiring that he should make some personal effort to re- 
cover the victory which was passing into the hands of the 
Templar and his associates. But, though both stout of heart 
and strong of person, Athelstane had a disposition too inert 
and unambitious to make the exertions which Cedric seemed 
to expect from him. 

^ The day is against England, my lord,^ said Cedric, in a 
marked tone ; ^ are you not tempted to take the lance ? ’ 

^ I shall tilt to-morrow,’ answered Athelstane, Tn the melee; 
it is not worth while for me to arm myself to-day.’ 

Two things displeased Cedric in this speech. It contained 
the Norman word melee (to express the general conflict), and 
it evinced some indifference to the honour of the country ; but 
it was spoken by Athelstane, whom he held in such profound 
respect that he would not trust himself to canvass his motives 
or his foibles. Moreover, he had no time to make any remark, 
for Wamba thrust in his word, observing, ^ It was better, 
though scarce easier, to be the best man among a hundred than 
the best man of two.’ 

Athelstane took the observation as a serious compliment; 
but Cedric, who better understood the Jester’s meaning, darted 
at him a severe and menacing look; and lucky it was for 
Wamba, perhaps, that the time and place prevented his re- 
ceiving, notwithstanding his place and service, more sensible 
marks of his master’s resentment. 

The pause in the tournament was still uninterrupted, ex- 
cepting by the voices of the heralds exclaiming — ^Love of 
ladies, splintering of lances ! stand forth, gallant knights, fair 
eyes look upon your deeds ! ’ 

The music also of the challengers breathed from time to 
time wild bursts expressive of triumph or defiance, while the 
clowns grudged a holiday which seemed to pass away in in- 
activity ; and old knights and nobles lamented in whispers the 
decay of martial spirit, spoke of the triumphs of their younger 
days, but agreed that the land did not now supply dames of 
such transcendent beauty as had animated the jousts of former 
times. Prince John began to talk to his attendants about 
making ready the banquet, and the necessity of adjudging the 
prize to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who had, with a single spear, 
overthrown two knights and foiled a third. 


84 


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At length, as the Saracenic music of the challengers con- 
cluded one of those long and high flourishes with which they 
had broken the silence of the lists, it was answered by a 
solitary trumpet, which breathed a note of defiance from the 
northern extremity. All eyes were turned to see the new 
champion which these sounds announced, and no sooner were 
the barriers opened than he paced into the lists. As far as 
could be judged of a man sheathed in armour, the new adven- 
turer did not greatly exceed the middle size, and seemed to be 
rather slender than strongly made. His suit of armour was 
formed of steel, richly inlaid with gold, and the device on his 
shield was a young oak-tree pulled up by the roots, with the 
Spanish word Desdichado, signifying Disinherited. He was 
mounted on a gallant black horse, and as he passed through 
the lists he gracefully saluted the Prince and the ladies by 
lowering his lance. The dexterity with which he managed his 
steed, and something of youthful grace which he displayed in 
his manner, won him the favour of the multitude, which some 
of the lower classes expressed by calling out, ^ Touch Ealph de 
ViponPs shield — touch the Hospitaller’s shield; he has the 
least sure seat, he is your cheapest bargain.’ 

The champion, moving onward amid these well-meant hints, 
ascended the platform by the sloping alley which led to it from 
the lists, and, to the astonishment of all present, riding 
straight up to the central pavilion, struck with the sharp end 
of his spear the shield of Brian de Bois-Guilbert until it rang 
again. All stood astonished at his presumption, hut none more 
than the redoubted Knight whom he had thus defied to mortal 
combat, and who, little expecting so rude a challenge, was 
standing carelessly at the door of the pavilion. 

^ Have you confessed yourself, brother,’ said the Templar, 
^ and have you heard mass this morning, that you peril your 
life so frankly ? ’ 

am fitter to meet death than thou art,’ answered the 
Disinherited Knight; for by this name the stranger had re- 
corded himself in the books of the tourney. 

^ Then take your place in the lists,’ said Bois-Guilbert, ^ and 
look your last upon the sun ; for this night thou shalt sleep in 
paradise.’ 

^ Gramercy for thy courtesy,’ replied the Disinherited 
Knight, ^ and to requite it, I advise thee to take a fresh horse 
and a new lance, for by my honour you will need both.’ 


IVANHOE 


85 


Having expressed himself thus confidently, he reined his 
horse backward down the slope which he had ascended, and 
compelled him in the same manner to move backward through 
the lists, till he reached the northern extremity, where he 
remained stationary, in expectation of his antagonist. This 
feat of horsemanship again attracted the applause of the 
multitude. 

However incensed at his adversary for the precautions which 
he recommended, Brian de Bois-Guilbert did not neglect his 
advice ; for his honour was too nearly concerned to permit his 
neglecting any means which might ensure victory over his pre- 
sumptuous opponent. He changed his horse for a proved and 
fresh one of great strength and spirit. He chose a new and 
tough spear, lest the wood of the former might have been 
strained in the previous encounters he had sustained. Lastly, 
he laid aside his shield, which had received some little damage, 
and received another from his squires. His first had only 
borne the general device of his rider, representing two knights 
riding upon one horse, an emblem expressive of the original 
humility and poverty of the Templars, qualities which they 
had since exchanged for the arrogance and wealth that finally 
occasioned their suppression. Bois-Guilbert’s new shield bore 
a raven in full flight, holding in its claws a skull, and bearing 
the motto. Gave le Corheau. 

When the two champions stood opposed to each other at the 
two extremities of the lists, the public expectation was strained 
to the highest pitch. Few augured the possibility that the 
encounter could terminate well for the Disinherited Knight; 
yet his courage and gallantry secured the general good wishes 
of the spectators. 

The trumpets had no sooner given the signal, than the 
champions vanished from their posts with the speed of light- 
ning, and closed in the centre of the lists with the shock of a 
thunderbolt. The lances burst into shivers up to the very 
grasp, and it seemed at the moment that both knights had 
fallen, for the shock had made each horse recoil backwards 
upon its haunches. The address of the riders recovered their 
steeds by use of the bridle and spur ; and having glared on each 
other for an instant with eyes which seemed to flash fire 
through the bars of their visors, each made a demi-volte, and, 
retiring to the extremity of the lists, received a fresh lance 
from the attendants. 


86 


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A loud shout from the spectators, waving of scarfs and 
handkerchiefs, and general acclamations, attested the interest 
taken by the spectators in this encounter — the most equal, as 
well as the best performed, which had graced the day. But 
no sooner had the knights resumed their station than the 
clamour of applause was hushed into a silence so deep and so 
dead that it seemed the multitude were afraid even to breathe. 

A few minutes^ pause having been allowed, that the combat- 
ants and their horses might recover breath, Prince J ohn with 
his truncheon signed to the trumpets to sound the onset. The 
champions a second time sprung from their stations, and 
closed in the centre of the lists, with the same speed, the same 
dexterity, the same violence, but not the same equal fortune as 
before. 

In this second encounter, the Templar aimed at the centre 
of his antagonist’s shield, and struck it so fair and forcibly 
that his spear went to shivers, and the Disinherited Knight 
reeled in his saddle. On the other hand, that champion had, 
in the beginning of his career, directed the point of his lance 
towards Bois-Guilbert’s shield, but, changing his aim almost in 
the moment of encounter, he addressed it to the helmet, a 
mark more difficult to hit, but which if attained, rendered the 
shot more irresistible. Fair and true he hit the Norman on 
the visor, where his lance’s point kept hold of the bars. Yet, 
even at this disadvantage, the Templar sustained his high rep- 
utation and had not the girths of his saddle burst, he might 
not have been unhorsed. As it chanced, however, saddle, 
horse, and man rolled on the ground under a cloud of dust. 

To extricate himself from the stirrups and fallen steed was 
to the Templar scarce the work of a moment ; and, stung with 
madness, both at his disgrace and at the acclamations with 
which it was hailed by the spectators, he drew his sword and 
waved it in defiance of his conqueror. The Disinherited 
Knight sprung from his steed, and also unsheathed his sword. 
The marshals of the field, however, spurred their horses be- 
tween them, and reminded them that the laws of the tourna- 
ment did not, on the present occasion, permit this species of 
encounter. 

^ We shall meet again, I trust,’ said the Templar, casting a 
resentful glance at his antagonist ; ^ and where there are none 
to separate us.’ 

^ If we do not,’ said the Disinherited Knight, Ghe fault shall 


IVANHOE 


87 


not be mine. On foot or horseback, with spear, with axe, or 
with sword, I am alike ready to encounter thee.’ 

More and angrier words would have been exchanged, but 
the marshals, crossing their lances betwixt them, compelled 
them to separate. The Disinherited Knight returned to his 
first station, and Bois-Guilbert to his tent, where he remained 
for the rest of the day in an agony of despair. 

Without alighting from his horse, the conqueror called for 
a bowl of wine, and opening the beaver, or lower part of his 
helmet, announced that he quaffed it, To all true English 
hearts, and to the confusion of foreign tyrants.’ He then 
commanded his trumpet to sound a defiance to the challengers, 
and desired a herald to announce to them that he should make 
no election, but was willing to encounter them in the order in 
which they pleased to advance against him. 

The gigantic Front-de-Boeuf, armed in sable armour, was 
the first who took the field. He bore on a white shield a black 
bull’s head, half defaced by the numerous encounters which he 
had undergone, and bearing the arrogant motto. Cave, Adsum. 
Over this champion the Disinherited Knight obtained a slight 
but decisive advantage. Both knights broke their lances fairly, 
but Front-de-Boeuf, who lost a stirrup in the encounter, was 
adjudged to have the disadvantage. 

In the stranger’s third encounter with Sir Philip Malvoisin 
he was equally successful; striking that baron so forcibly on 
the casque that the laces of the helmet broke, and Malvoisin, 
only saved from falling by being unhelmeted, was declared 
vanquished like his companions. 

In his fourth combat with De Grantmesnil the Disinherited 
Knight showed as much courtesy as he had hitherto evinced 
courage and dexterity. De Grantmesnil’s horse, which was 
young and violent, reared and plunged in the course of the 
career so as to disturb the rider’s aim, and the stranger, declin- 
ing to take the advantage which this accident afforded him, 
raised his lance, and passing his antagonist without touching 
him, wheeled his horse and rode back again to his own end of 
the lists, offering his antagonist, by a herald, the chance of a 
second encounter. This De Grantmesnil declined, avowing 
himself vanquished as much by the courtesy as by the address 
of his opponent. 

Ealph de Vipont summed up the list of the stranger’s 
triumphs, being hurled to the ground with such force that the 


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blood gushed from his nose and his mouth, and he was borne 
senseless from the lists. 

The acclamations of thousands applauded the unanimous 
award of the Prince and marshals, announcing that day’s 
honours to the Disinherited Knight. ’ 

COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

Can you state the laws of the tournament? 

What is the distinction between ‘ the arms of courtesy ’ and ‘ the 
combat at outrance ? ’ 

What is to be the prize of the victor on the first day ? 

Was it unusual for the victor, do you infer, to name the Queen of I^ove 
and Beauty? If so, why was the decision left to him on this occasion ? 

How is the tournament on the second day to difiFer from that on the 
first ? What reward for the victor on the second day ? 

What popular sports are to follow the ‘ knightly games ’ ? 

Do you see the appropriateness of assigning to the Normans the south 
entrance to the lists, and to the Saxons the north entrance ? 

Describe the first four encounters. 

Who are the victors ? 

Notice the very great skill with which Scott leads up to the entrance 
of the Disinherited Knight : Cedric is chagrined at the refusal of Athel- 
stane to take part in the combat, and then comes from the north the 
note of ‘ a solitary trumpet ’ in marked contrast with the cymbals and 
bells of the Bastern musicians,— the one is Knglish and the other is 
foreign, like the knights on each side who are to fight to the death. 

Observe how Scott gains our breathless attention by this note and 
the clang of Bois-Guilbert’s shield when struck by the spear of the Dis- 
inherited Knight. 

Does Scott suggest who this strange knight may be?— Is he the 
Palmer ? 


CHAPTER IX 


In the midst was seen 
A lady of a more majestic mien, 

By stature and by beauty mark’d their sovereign Queen. 

. . . . f . . . 

And as in beauty she surpass’d the choir, 

So nobler than the rest was her attire ; 

A crown of ruddy gold inclosed her brow, 

Plain without pomp, and rich without a show ; 

A branch of Agnus Castus in her hand. 

She bore aloft her symbol of command. 

The Flower and the Leaf. 

WILIAM DE Wyvil and Stephen de Marti val, the marshals of 
the*"field, were the first to offer their congratulations to the 
victor, praying him, at the same time, to suffer his helmet to 
be unlaced, or, at least, that he would raise his visor ere they 
conducted him to receive the prize of the day’s tourney from 
the hands of Prince J ohn. The Disinherited Knight, with all 
knightly courtesy, declined their request, alleging, that he 
could not at this time suffer his face to be seen, for reasons 
which he had assigned to the heralds when he entered the lists. 
The marshals were perfectly satisfied by this reply ; for amidst 
the frequent and capricious vows by which knights were accus- 
tomed to bind themselves in the days of chivalry, there were 
none more common than those by which they engaged to re- 
main incognito for a certain space, or until some particular 
adventure was achieved. The marshals, therefore, pressed no 
farther into the mystery of the Disinherited Knight, but, an- 
nouncing to Prince J ohn the conqueror’s desire to remain un- 
known, they requested permission to bring him before his 
Grace, in order that he might receive the reward of his valour. 

J ohn’s curiosity was excited by the mystery observed by the 
stranger; and, being already displeased with the issue of the 
tournament, in which the challengers whom he favoured had 
been successively defeated by one knight, he answered haugh- 
tily to the marshals, ^ By the light of Our Lady’s brow, this 
same knight hath been disinherited as well of his courtesy as 

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of his lands, since he desires to appear before us without un- 
covering his face. Wot ye, my lords,’ he said, turning round 
to his train, ^ who this gallant can be that bears himself thus 
proudly ? ’ 

^ I cannot guess,’ answered De Bracy, ^ nor did I think there 
had been within the four seas that girth Britain a champion 
that could bear down these five knights in one day’s jousting. 
By my faith, I shall never forget the force with which he 
shocked De Vipont. The poor Hospitaller was hurled from his 
saddle like a stone from a sling.’ 

^ Boast not of that,’ said^a Knight of St. John who was 
present; ^your Temple champion had no better luck. I saw 
your brave lance, Bois-Guilbert, roll thrice over, grasping his 
hands full of sand at every turn.’ 

De Bracy, being attached to the Templars, would have re- 
plied, but was prevented by Prince J ohn. ^ Silence, sirs ! ’ he 
said ; ^ what unprofitable debate have we here ? ’ 

^ The victor,’ said De Wyvil, ^ still waits the pleasure of your 
Highness.’ 

‘It is our pleasure,’ answered John, ‘that he do so wait 
until we learn whether there is not some one who can at least 
guess at his name and quality. Should he remain there till 
nightfall, he has had work enough to keep him warm.’ 

‘ Your Grace,’ said Waldemar Pitzurse, ‘ will do less than 
due honour to the victor if you compel him to wait till we tell 
your Highness that which we cannot know ; at least I can form 
no guess — unless he be one of the good lances who accompanied 
King Eichard to Palestine, and who are now straggling home- 
ward from the Holy Land.’ 

‘ It may be the Earl of Salisbury,’ said De Bracy ; ‘ he is 
about the same pitch.’ 

‘ Sir Thomas de Multon, the Knight of Gilsland, rather,’ 
said Pitzurse ; ‘ Salisbury is bigger in the bones.’ A whisper 
arose among the train, but by whom first suggested could not 
be ascertained. ‘ It might be the King — it might be Eichard 
Coeur-de-Lion himself ! ’ 

‘ Over God’s forbode ! ’ said Prince John, involuntarily turn- 
ing at the same time as pale as death, and shrinking as if 
blighted by a fiash of lightning; ‘ Waldemar ! De Bracy ! brave 
knights and gentlemen, remember your promises, and stand 
truly by me ! ’ 

‘Here is no danger impending,’ said Waldemar Pitzurse; 


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91 


^ are you so little acquainted with the gigantic limbs of your 
father’s son, as to think they can be held within the circum- 
ference of yonder suit of armour? De Wyvil and Martival, 
you will best serve the Prince by bringing forward the victor to 
the throne, and ending an error that has conjured all the blood 
from his cheeks. Look at him more closely,’ he continued; 
‘ your Highness will see that he wants three inches of King 
Eichard’s height, and twice as much of his shoulder-breadth. 
The very horse he backs could not have carried the ponderous 
weight of King Eichard through a single course.’ 

While he was yet speaking, th? marshals brought forward 
the Disinherited Knight to the foot of a wooden flight of steps, 
which formed the ascent from the lists to Prince John’s 
throne. Still discomposed with the idea that his brother, so 
much injured, and to whom he was so much indebted, had 
suddenly arrived in his native kingdom, even the distinctions 
pointed out by Fitzurse did not altogether remove the Prince’s 
apprehensions ; and while, with a short and embarrassed eulogy 
upon his valour, he caused to be delivered to him the war-horse 
assigned as the prize, he trembled lest from the barred visor of 
the mailed form before him an answer might be returned in 
the deep and awful accents of Eichard the Lion-hearted. 

But the Disinherited Knight spoke not a word in reply to 
the compliment of the Prince, which he only acknowledged 
with a profound obeisance. 

The horse was led into the lists by two grooms richly dressed, 
the animal itself being full}?' accoutred with the richest war- 
furniture; which, however, scarcely added to the value of the 
noble creature in the eyes of those who were judges. Laying 
one hand upon the pommel of the saddle, the Disinherited 
Knight vaulted at once upon the back of the steed without 
making use of the stirrup, and, brandishing aloft his lance, 
rode twice around the lists, exhibiting the points and paces of 
the horse with the skill of a perfect horseman. 

The appearance of vanity which might otherwise have been 
attributed to this display was removed by the propriety shown 
in exhibiting to the best advantage the princely reward with 
which he had been just honoured, and the Knight was again 
greeted by the acclamations of all present. 

In the meanwhile, the bustling Prior of Jorvaulx had re- 
minded Prince John, in a whisper, that the victor must now 
display his good judgment, instead of his valour, by selecting 


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from among the beauties who graced the galleries a lady who 
should fill the throne of the Queen of Beauty and of Love, and 
deliver the prize of the tourney, upon the ensuing day. The 
Prince accordingly made a sign with his truncheon as the 
Knight passed him in his second career around the lists. The 
Knight turned towards the throne, and, sinking his lance until 
the point was within a foot of the ground, remained motion- 
less, as if expecting John^s commands; while all admired the 
sudden dexterity with which he instantly reduced his fiery 
steed from a state of violent emotion and high excitation to the 
stillness of an equestrian sfatue. 

^ Sir Disinherited Knight,^ said Prince John, ‘since that is 
the only title by which we can address you, it is now your 
duty, as well as privilege, to name the fair lady who, as Queen 
of Honour and of Love, is to preside over next day’s festival. 
If, as a stranger in our land, you should require the aid of 
other judgment to guide your own, we can only say that Alicia, 
the daughter of our gallant knight Waldemar Fitzurse, has at 
our court been long held the first in beauty as in place.'*^ 
Nevertheless, it is your undoubted prerogative to confer on 
whom you please this crown, by the delivery of which to the 
lady of your choice the election of to-morrow’s Queen will be 
formal and complete. Eaise your lance.’ 

The Knight obeyed ; and Prince J ohn placed upon its point 
a coronet of green satin, having around its edge a circlet of 
gold, the upper edge of which was relieved by arrow-points 
and hearts placed interchangeably, like the strawberry leaves 
and balls upon a ducal crown. 

In the broad hint which he dropped respecting the daughter 
of Waldemar Fitzurse, John had more than one motive, each 
the offspring of a mind which was a strange mixture of care- 
lessness and presumption with low artifice and cunning. He 
wished to banish from the minds of the chivalry around him 
his own indecent and unacceptable jest respecting the Jewess 
Eebecca; he was desirous of conciliating Alicia’s father, Wal- 
demar, of whom he stood in awe, and who had more than once 
shown himself dissatisfied during the course of the day’s pro- 
ceedings. He had also a wish to establish himself in the good 
graces of the lady; for John was at least as licentious in his 
pleasures as profligate in his ambition. But besides all these 
reasons, he was desirous to raise up against the Disinherited 
Knight, towards whom he already entertained a strong dis- 


IVANHOE 


93 


like, a powerful enemy in the person of AValdemar Fitzurse, 
who was likely, he thought, highly to resent the injury done 
to his daughter in case, as was not unlikely, the victor should 
make another choice. 

And so indeed it proved. For the Disinherited Knight 
passed the gallery, close to that of the Prince, in which the 
Lady Alicia was seated in the full pride of triumphant beauty, 
and pacing forwards as slowly as he had hitherto rode swiftly 
around the lists, he seemed to exercise his right of examining 
the numerous fair faces which adorned that splendid circle. 

It was worth while to see the different conduct of the 
beauties who underwent this examination, during the time it 
was proceeding. Some blushed ; some assumed an air of pride 
and dignity ; some looked straight forward, and essayed to seem 
utterly unconscious of what was going on ; some drew back in 
alarm, which was perhaps affected ; some endeavoured to for- 
bear smiling; and there were two or three who laughed out- 
right. There were also some who dropped their veils over their 
charms; but as the Wardour Manuscript says these were fair 
ones of ten years’ standing, it may be supposed that, having 
had their full share of such vanities, they were willing to with- 
draw their claims in order to give a fair chance to the rising 
beauties of the age. 

At length the champion paused beneath the balcony in 
which the Lady Kowena was placed, and the expectation of 
the spectators was excited to the utmost. 

It must be owned that, if an interest displayed in his success 
could have bribed the Disinherited Knight, the part of the 
lists before which he paused had merited his predilection. 
Cedric the Saxon, overjoyed at the discomfiture of the Tem- 
plar, and still more so at the miscarriage of his two malevo- 
lent neighbours, Front-de-Boeuf and Malvoisin, had, with his 
body half-stretched over the balcony, accompanied the victor in 
each course not with his eyes only, but with his whole heart 
and soul. The Lady Rowena had watched the progress of the 
day with equal attention, though without openly betraying the 
same intense interest. Even the unmoved Athelstane had 
shown symptoms of shaking off his apathy, when, calling for a 
huge goblet of muscadine, he quaffed it to the health of the 
Disinherited Knight. 

Another group, stationed under the gallery occupied by the 
Saxons, had shown no less interest in the fate of the day. 


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^ Father Abraham ! ^ said Isaac of York, when the first 
course was run betwixt the Templar and the Disinherited 
Knight, ^ how fiercely that Gentile rides ! Ah, the good horse 
that was brought all the long way from Barbary, he takes no 
more care of him than if he were a wild ass’s colt ; and the 
noble armour that was worth so many zecchins to Joseph 
Pareira, the armourer of Milan, besides seventy in the hun- 
dred of profits, he cares for it as little as if he had found it in 
the highways ! ’ 

^ If he risks his own person and limbs, father,’ said Eebecca, 
^ in doing such a dreadful battle, he can scarce be expected to 
spare his horse and armour.’ 

^ Child ! ’ replied Isaac, somewhat heated, ^ thou knowest not 
what thou speakest. His neck and limbs are his own; but his 

horse and armour belong to Holy Jacob! what was I 

about to say ? Nevertheless, it is a good youth. See, Eebecca I 
— see, he is again about to go up to battle against the Philis- 
tine ! Pray, child — pray for the safety of the good youth ; and 
of the speedy horse and the rich armour. God of my fathers I ’ 
he again exclaimed, ^he hath conquered, and the uncircum- 
cised Philistine hath fallen before his lance, even as Og the 
King of Bashan, and Sihon, King of the Amorites, fell before 
the sword of our fathers ! Surely he shall take their gold and 
their silver, and their war-horses, and their armour of brass 
and of steel, for a prey and for a spoil.’ 

The same anxiety did the worthy Jew display during every 
course that was run, seldom failing to hazard a hasty, calcula- 
tion concerning the value of the horse and armour which were 
forfeited to the champion upon each new success. There had 
been therefore no small interest taken in the success of the 
Disinherited Knight by those who occupied the part of the 
lists before which he now paused. 

Whether from indecision or some other motive of hesitation, 
the champion of the day remained stationary for more than a 
minute, while the eyes of the silent audience were riveted upon 
his motions; and then, gradually and gracefully sinking the 
point of his lance, he deposited the coronet which it supported 
at the feet of the fair Eowena. The trumpets instantly 
sounded, while the heralds proclaimed the Lady Eowena the 
Queen of Beauty and of Love for the ensuing day, menacing 
with suitable penalties those who should be disobedient to her 
authority. They then repeated their cry of ^Largesse,’ to 


IVANHOE 


95 


which Cedric, in the height of his joy, replied by an ample 
donative, and to which Athelstane, though less promptly, 
added one equally large. 

There was some murmuring among the damsels of i^orman 
descent, who were as much unused to see the preference given 
to a Saxon beauty as the Norman nobles were to sustain defeat 
in the games of chivalry which they themselves had intro- 
duced. But these sounds of disaffection were drowned by the 
popular shout of ^ Long live the Lady Eowena, the chosen and 
lawful Queen of Love and of Beauty ! ’ To which many in the 
lower area added, ‘ Long live the Saxon Princess ! long live the 
race of the immortal Alfred ! ^ 

However unacceptable these sounds might be to Prince J ohn 
and to those around him, he saw himself nevertheless obliged 
to confirm the nomination of the victor, and accordingly 
calling to horse, he left his throne, and mounting his jennet, 
accompanied by his train, he again entered the lists. The 
Prince paused a moment beneath the gallery of the Lady 
Alicia, to whom he paid his compliments, observing, at the 
same time to those around him — ^ By my halidome, sirs ! if the 
Knight’s feats in arms have shown that he hath limbs and 
sinews, his choice hath no less proved that his eyes are none of 
the clearest.’ 

It was on this occasion, as during his whole life, John’s mis- 
fortune not perfectly to understand the characters of those 
whom he wished to conciliate. Waldemar Fitzurse was rather 
offended than pleased at the Prince stating thus broadly an 
opinion that his daughter had been slighted. 

‘1 know no right of chivalry,’ he said, ^more precious or 
inalienable than that of each free knight to choose his lady- 
love by his own judgment. My daughter courts distinction 
from no one ; and in her own character, and in her own sphere, 
will never fail to receive the full proportion of that which is 
her due.’ 

Prince John replied not; but, spurring his horse, as if to 
give vent to his vexation, he made the animal bound forward 
to the gallery where Eowena was seated, with the crown still 
at her feet. 

^ Assume,’ he said, ^ fair lady, the mark of your sovereignty, 
to which none vows homage more sincerely than ourself, J ohn 
of Anjou; and if it please you to-day, with your noble sire 
and friends, to grace our banquet in the Castle of Ashby, we 


96 


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shall learn to know the empress to whose services we devote 
to-morrow/ 

Eowena remained silent, and Cedric answered for her in his 
native Saxon. 

^ The Lady Eowena/ he said, ^ possesses not the language in 
which to reply to your courtesy, or to sustain her part in your 
festival. I also, and the noble Athelstane of Coningsburgh, 
speak only the language, and practise only the manners, of our 
fathers. We therefore decline with thanks your Highness’s 
courteous invitation to the banquet. To-morrow, the Lady 
Eowena will take upon her the state to which she has been 
called by the free election of the victor Knight, confirmed by 
the acclamations of the people.’ 

So saying, he lifted the coronet and placed it upon Eowena’s 
head, in token of her acceptance of the temporary authority 
assigned to her. 

^ What says he ? ’ said Prince J ohn, affecting not to under- 
stand the Saxon language, in which, however, he was well 
skilled. The purport of Cedric’s speech was repeated to him 
in French. ^ It is well,’ he said ; ^ to-morrow we will ourself 
conduct this mute sovereign to her seat of dignity. You, at 
least. Sir Knight,’ he added, turning to the victor, who had 
remained near the gallery, ^ will this day share our banquet ? ’ 

The Knight, speaking for the first time, in a low and hur- 
ried voice, excused himself by pleading fatigue, and the neces- 
sity of preparing for to-morrow’s encounter. 

‘ It is well,’ said Prince John, haughtily; ^ although unused 
to such refusals, we will endeavour to digest our banquet as 
we may, though ungraced by the most successful in arms and 
his elected Queen of Beauty.’ 

So saying, he prepared to leave the lists with his glittering 
train, and his turning his steed for that purpose was the 
signal for the breaking up and dispersion of the spectators. 

Yet, with the vindictive memory proper to offended pride, 
especially when combined with conscious want of desert, John 
had hardly proceeded three paces ere again, turning around, 
he fixed an eye of stern resentment upon the yeoman who had 
displeased him in the early part of the da)q and issued his 
commands to the men-at-arms who stood near — ^ On your life, 
suffer not that fellow to escape.’ 

The yeoman stood the angry glance of the Prince with the 
same unvaried steadiness which had marked his former deport- 


IVANHOE 


97 


ment, saying, with a smile, ^ I have no intention to leave 
Ashby until the day after to-morrow. I must see how Staf- 
fordshire and Leicestershire can draw their bows; the forests 
of Needwood and Charnwood must rear good archers.^ 

^ I,’ said Prince J ohn to his attendants, but not in direct 
reply — ‘ I will see how he can draw his own ; and woe betide 
him unless his skill should prove some apology for his inso- 
lence ! ’ 

^ It is full time,’ said De Bracy, ^ that the outrecuidance of 
these peasants should be restrained by some striking example.’ 

Waldemar Fitzurse, who probably thought his patron was 
not taking the readiest road to popularity, shrugged up his 
shoulders and was silent. Prince John resumed his retreat 
from the lists, and the dispersion of the multitude became 
general. 

In various routes, according to the different quarters from 
which they came, and in groups of various numbers, the 
spectators were seen retiring over the plain. By far the most 
numerous part streamed towards the town of Ashby, where 
many of the distinguished persons were lodged in the castle, 
and where others found accommodation in the town itself. 
Among these were most of the knights who had already 
appeared in the tournament, or who proposed to fight there 
the ensuing day, and who, as they rode slowly along, talking 
over the events of the day, were greeted with loud shouts by 
the populace. The same acclamations were bestowed upon 
Prince John, although he was indebted for them rather to the 
splendour of his appearance and train than to the popularity 
of his character. 

A more sincere and more general, as well as a better- 
merited acclamation, attended the victor of the day, until, 
anxious to withdraw himself from popular notice, he accepted 
the accommodation of one of those pavilions pitched at the 
extremities of the lists, the use of which was courteously 
tendered him by the marshals of the field. On his retiring 
to his tent, many who had lingered in the lists, to look upon 
and form conjectures concerning him, also dispersed. 

The signs and sounds of a tumultuous concourse of men 
lately crowded together in one place, and agitated by the same 
passing events, were now exchanged for the distant hum of 
voices of different groups retreating in all directions, and these 
speedily died away in silence. No other sounds were heard 


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save the voices of the menials who stripped the galleries of 
their cushions and tapestry, in order to put them in safety for 
the night, and wrangled among themselves for the half-used 
bottles of wine and relics of the refreshment which had been 
served round to the spectators. 

Beyond the precincts of the lists more than one forge was 
erected ; and these now began to glimmer through the twilight, 
announcing the toil of the armourers, which was to continue 
through the whole night, in order to repair or alter the suits of 
armour to be used again on the morrow. 

A strong guard of men-at-arms, renewed at intervals, from 
two hours to two hours, surrounded the lists, and kept watch 
during the night. 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

Go over in mind the scene following the clash of arms. 

Why does the Disinherited Knight wish to remain unknown at this 
time ? Is there anything unusual in the desire ? Why is Prince John 
so anxious to know who he is ? What are the conjectures ? 

What are Prince John’s motives for urging the Disinherited Knight 
to name Alicia as the Queen of Beauty and of Dove ? 

Observe that Scott gives us a hint that the Disinherited Knight may 
be the Palmer. Does the indecision of the Champion as he remains 
stationary before Rowena point to a still greater hesitancy to occur 
later? Does he, do you suppose, see the face of Rebecca? 

What suggestion is there that King Richard may appear? 

Notice that attention is again drawn for a moment to the yeoman as 
if he were to play an important part before the romance runs its course. 


CHAPTEE X 


Thus, like the sad presaging raven, that tolls 
The sick man’s passport in her hollow beak, 

And in the shadow of the silent night 
Doth shake contagion from her sable wings ; 

Vex’d and tormented, runs poor Barrabas, 

With fatal curses towards these Christians. 

Jew of Malta. 

The Disinherited Knight had no sooner reached his pavilion 
than squires and pages in abundance tendered their services 
to disarm him, to bring fresh attire, and to offer him the re- 
freshment of the bath. Their zeal on this occasion was per- 
haps sharpened by curiosity, since every one desired to know 
who the knight was that had gained so many laurels, yet had 
refused, even at the command of Prince John, to lift his visor 
or to name his name. But their officious inquisitiveness was 
not gratified. The Disinherited Knight refused all other 
assistance save that of his own squire, or rather yeoman — a 
clownish-looking man, who, wrapt in a cloak of dark-coloured 
felt, and having his head and face half-buried in a Xorman 
bonnet made of black fur, seemed to affect the incognito as 
much as his master. All others being excluded from the tent, 
this attendant relieved his master from the more burdensome 
parts of his armour, and placed food and wine before him, 
which the exertions of the day rendered very acceptable. 

The Knight had scarcely finished a hasty meal ere his 
menial announced to him that five men, each leading a barbed 
steed, desired to speak with him. The Disinherited Knight 
had exchanged his armour for the long robe usually worn by 
those of his condition, which, being furnished with a hood, 
concealed the features, when such was the pleasure of the 
wearer, almost as completely as the visor of the helmet itself ; 
but the twilight, which was now fast darkening, would of itself 
have rendered a disguise unnecessary, unless to persons to 
whom the face of an individual chanced to be particularly 
well known. 


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The Disinherited Knight, therefore, stept boldly forth to 
the front of his tent, and found in attendance the squires of 
the challengers, whom he easily knew by their russet and black 
dresses, each of whom led his master’s charger, loaded with the 
armour in which he had that day fought. 

^ According to the laws of chivalry,’ said the foremost of 
these men, ‘I, Baldwin de Oyley, squire to the redoubted 
Knight Brian de Bois-Guilbert, make offer to you, styling 
yourself for the present the Disinherited Knight, of the horse 
and armour used by the said Brian de Bois-Guilbert in this 
day’s passage of arms, leaving it with your nobleness to retain 
or to ransom the same, according to your pleasure ; for such is 
the law of arms.’ 

The other squires repeated nearly the same formula, and 
then stood to await the decision of the Disinherited Knight. 

^ To you four, sirs,’ replied the Knight, addressing those 
who had last spoken, ^and to your honourable and valiant 
masters, I have one common reply. Commend me to the 
noble knights, your masters, and say, I should do ill to deprive 
them of steeds and arms which can never be used by braver 
cavaliers. I would I could here end my message to these 
gallant knights; but being, as I term m3^self, in truth and 
earnest the Disinherited, I must be thus far bound to your 
masters, that they will, of their courtesy, be pleased to ransom 
their steeds and armour, since that which I wear I can hardly 
term mine own.’ 

^ We stand commissioned, each of us,’ answered the squire of 
Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf, ^ to offer a hundred zecchins in ran- 
som of these horses and suits of armour.’ 

' It is sufficient,’ said the Disinherited Knight. ^ Half the 
sum my present necessities compel me to accept; of the re- 
maining half, distribute one moiety among yourselves, sir 
squires, and divide the other half betwixt the heralds and the 
pursuivants, and minstrels, and attendants.’ 

The squires, with cap in hand, and low reverences, expressed 
their deep sense of a courtesy and generosity not often prac- 
tised, at least upon a scale so extensive. The Disinherited 
Knight then addressed his discourse to Baldwin, the squire of 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert. ^ From your master,’ said he, ^ I will 
accept neither arms nor ransom. Say to him in my name, that 
our strife is not ended — no, not till we have fought as well 
with swords as with lances, as well on foot as on horseback. 


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101 


To this mortal quarrel he has himself defied me, and I shall 
not forget the challenge. Meantime, let him be assured that 
I hold him not as one of his companions, with whom I can 
with pleasure exchange courtesies; but rather as one with 
whom I stand upon terms of mortal defiance.’ 

^My master,’ answered Baldwin, ^ knows how to requite 
scorn with scorn, and blows with blows, as well as courtesy 
with courtesy. Since you disdain to accept from him any 
share of the ransom at which you have rated the arms of the 
other knights, I must leave his armour and his horse here, 
being well assured that he will never deign to mount the one 
nor wear the other.’ 

^ You have spoken well, good squire,’ said the Disinherited 
Knight — ^ well and boldly, as it beseemeth him to speak who 
answers for an absent master. Leave not, however, the horse 
and armour here. Eestore them to thy master; or, if he 
scorns to accept them, retain them, good friend, for thine 
own use. So far as they are mine, I bestow them upon you 
freely.’ 

Baldwin made a deep obeisance, and retired with his com- 
panions; and the Disinherited Knight entered the pa- 
vilion. 

^Thus far, Gurth,’ said he, addressing his attendant, ^the 
reputation of English chivalry hath not suffered in my hands.’ 

‘ And I,’ said Gurth, ‘ for a Saxon swineherd, have ’not ill 
played the personage of a Norman squire-at-arms.’ 

‘ Yea, but,’ answered the Disinherited Knight, ^ thou hast 
ever kept me in anxiety lest thy clownish bearing should dis- 
cover thee.’ 

^ Tush ! ’ said Gurth, ^ I fear discovery from none, saving 
my playfellow, Wamba the Jester, of whom I could never dis- 
cover whether he were most knave or fool. Yet I could scarce 
choose hut laugh, w>^en my old master passed so near to me, 
dreaming all the while that Gurth was keeping his porkers 
many a mile off, in the thickets and swamps of Eotherwood. 
If I am discovered ’ 

^Enough,’ said the Disinherited Knight, ^thou knowest 
my promise.’ 

‘ Nay, for that matter,’ said Gurth, ^ I will never fail my 
friend for fear of my skin-cutting. I have a tough hide, that 
will bear knife or scourge as well as any boar’s hide in my 
herd.’ 


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^ Trust me, I will requite the risk you run for my love, 
Gurth," said the Knight. ' Meanwhile, I pray you to accept 
these ten pieces of gold.^ 

^ I am richer,’ said Gurth, putting them into his pouch, 

^ than ever was swineherd or bondsman.’ 

^Take this bag of gold to Ashby,’ continued his master, 
and find out Isaac the Jew of York, and let him pay himself 
for the horse and arms with which his credit supplied me.’ 

‘ Nay, by St. Dunstan,’ replied Gurth, ^that I will not do.’ 

^ How, knave,’ replied his master, ^ wilt thou not obey my 
commands ? ’ 

‘ So they be honest, reasonable, and Christian commands,’ 
replied Gurth ; ^ but this is none of these. To suffer the J ew 
to pay himself would be dishonest, for it would be cheating my 
master; and unreasonable, for it were the part of a fool; and 
unchristian, since it would be plundering a believer to enrich 
an infidel.’ 

^ See him contented, however, thou stubborn varlet,’ said the 
Disinherited Knight. 

‘ I will do so,’ said Gurth, taking the bag under his cloak 
and leaving the apartment ; ^ and it will go hard,’ he muttered, 

^ but I content him with one-half of his own asking.’ So say- 
ing, he departed, and left the Disinherited Knight to his own 
perplexed ruminations, which, upon more accounts than it is 
now possible to communicate to the reader, were of a nature 
peculiarly agitating and painful. 

We must now change the scene to the village of Ashby, or 
rather to a country house in its vicinity belonging to a wealthy 
Israelite, with whom Isaac, his daughter, and retinue had 
taken up their quarters; the Jews, it is well known, being as 
liberal in exercising the duties of hospitality and charity 
among their own people as they were alleged to be reluctant 
and churlish in extending them to those whom they termed \ 
Gentiles, and whose treatment of them certainly merited little ‘ 
hospitality at their hand. 

In an apartment, small indeed, but richly furnished with 
decorations of an Oriental taste, Eebecca was seated on a heap 
of embroidered cushions, which, piled along a low platform 
that surrounded the chamber, served, like the estrada of the 
Spaniards, instead of chairs and stools. She was watching the 
motions of her father with a look of anxious and filial affec- 


IVANHOE 


103 


tion, while he paced the apartment with a dejected mien and 
disordered step, sometimes clasping his hands together, some- 
times casting his eyes to the roof of the apartment, as one who 
laboured under great mental tribulation. ^ 0, Jacob ! ^ he ex- 
claimed — ^ 0, all ye twelve Holy Fathers of our tribe ! what 
a losing venture is this for one who hath duly kept every jot 
and tittle of the law of Moses ! Fifty zecchins wrenched from 
me at one clutch, and by the talons of a tyrant ! ’ 

^ But, father,^ said Eebecca, ^ you seemed to give the gold to 
Prince John willingly.’ 

^ Willingly ! the blotch of Egypt upon him ! Willingly, 
saidst thou ? Ay, as willingly as when, in the Gulf of Lyons, 
I flung over my merchandise to lighten the ship, while she 
laboured in the tempest — robed the seething billows in my 
choice silks — perfumed their briny foam with myrrh and aloes 
— enriched their caverns with gold and silver work ! And was 
not that an hour of unutterable misery, though my own hands 
made the sacrifice ? ’ 

^ But it was a sacrifice which Heaven exacted to save our 
lives,’ answered Eebecca, ^ and the God of our fathers has since 
blessed your store and your gettings.’ 

^ Ay,’ answered Isaac, ^ but if the tyrant lays hold on them 
as he did to-day, and compels me to smile while he is robbing 
me? 0, daughter, disinherited and wandering as we are, the 
worst evil which befalls our race is, that when we are wronged 
and plundered all the world laughs around, and we are com- 
pelled to suppress our sense of injury, and to smile tamely 
when we would revenge bravely.’ 

^ Think not thus of it, my father,’ said Eebecca ; ^ we also 
have advantages. These Gentiles, cruel and oppressive as they 
are, are in some sort dependent on the dispersed children of 
Zion, whom they despise and persecute. Without the aid of 
our wealth they could neither furnish forth their hosts in war 
nor their triumphs in peace ; and the gold which we lend them 
returns with increase to our coffers. We are like the herb 
which flourisheth most when it is most trampled on. Even 
this day’s pageant had not proceeded without the consent of 
the despised Jew, who furnished the means.’ 

^ Daughter,’ said Isaac, ^ thou hast harped upon another 
string of sorrow. The goodly steed and the rich armour, equal 
to the full profit of my adventure with our Kirjath Jairam 
of Leicester — there is a dead loss too — ay, a loss which swal- 


104 


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lows up the gains of a week — ay, of the space between two 
Sabaoths — and yet it may end better than I now think, for 
^tis a good youth/ 

^ Assuredly,^ said Kebecca, ^you shall not repent you of 
requiting the good deed received of the stranger knight/ 

trust so, daughter,’ said Isaac, ‘and I trust too in the 
rebuilding of Zion ; but as well do I hope with my own bodily 
eyes to see the walls and battlements of the new Temple, as to 
see a Christian, yea, the very best of Christians, repay a debt 
to a Jew, unless under the awe of the judge and jailor/ 

So saying, he resumed his discontented walk through the 
apartment ; and Eebecca, perceiving that her attempts at con- 
solation only served to awaken new subjects of complaint, 
wisely desisted from her unavailing efforts — a prudential line 
of conduct, and we recommend to all who set up for com- 
forters and advisers to follow it in the like circumstances. 

The evening was now becoming dark, when a J ewish servant 
entered the apartment and placed upon the table two silver 
lamps, fed with perfumed oil ; the richest wines and the most 
delicate refreshments were at the same time displayed by an- 
other Israelitish domestic on a small ebony table, inlaid with 
silver; for, in the interior of their houses, the Jews refused 
themselves no expensive indulgences. At the same time the 
servant informed Isaac that a Nazarene (so they termed Chris- 
tians while conversing among themselves) desired to speak 
with him. He that would live by traffic must hold himself 
at the disposal of every one claiming business with him. Isaac 
at once replaced on the table the untasted glass of Greek wine 
which he had just raised to his lips, and saying hastily to his 
daughter, ‘ Eebecca, veil thyself,’ commanded the stranger to 
be admitted. 

Just as Eebecca had dropped over her fine features a screen 
of silver gauze which reached to her feet, the door opened, and 
Gurth entered, wrapt in the ample folds of his Norman man- 
tle. His appearance was rather suspicious than prepossessing, 
especially as, instead of doffing his bonnet, he pulled it still 
deeper over his rugged brow. 

‘ Art thou Isaac the Jew of York ? ’ said Gurth, in Saxon. 

‘ I am,’ replied Isaac, in the same language, for his traffic 
had rendered every tongue spoken in Britain familiar to him, 
‘ and who art thou ? ’ 

‘ That is not to the purpose,’ answered Gurth. 


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105 


^ As much as my name is to thee/ replied Isaac ; ^ for with- 
out knowing thine, how can I hold intercourse with thee ? ^ 

^ Easily,’ answered Gurth ; ‘ I being to pay money, must 
know that I deliver it to the right person; thou, who art to 
receive it, wilt not, I think, care very greatly by whose hands 
it is delivered.’ 

^0/ said the Jew, ^you are come to pay monies? Holy 
Father Abraham! that altereth our relation to each other. 
And from whom dost thou bring it ? ’ 

^ From the Disinherited Knight,’ said Gurth, ^ victor in this 
day’s tournament. It is the price of the armour supplied to 
him by Kirjath Jairam of Leicester, on thy recommendation. 
The steed is restored to thy stable. I desire to know the 
amount of the sum which I am to pay for the armour.’ 

' I said he was a good youth ! ’ exclaimed Isaac, with joyful 
exultation. ^ A cup of wine will do thee no harm,’ he added, 
filling and handing to the swineherd a richer draught than 
Gurth had ever before tasted. ^ And how much money,’ con- 
tinued Isaac, ^ hast thou brought with thee ? ’ 

^ Holy Virgin I ’ said Gurth, setting down the cup, ' what 
nectar these unbelieving dogs drink, while true Christians are 
fain to quaff ale as muddy and thick as the draff we give to 
hogs ! What money have I brought with me ? ’ continued the 
Saxon, when he had finished this uncivil ejaculation, ^even 
but a small sum ; something in hand the whilst. IVliat, Isaac ! 
thou must bear a conscience, though it be a Jewish one.’ 

^Kay, but,’ said Isaac, ^thy master has won goodly steeds 
and rich armours with the strength of his lance and of his 
right hand — but ’tis a good youth ; the J ew will take these in 
present payment, and render him back the surplus.’ 

^ My master has disposed of them already,’ said Gurth. 

^ Ah ! that was wrong,’ said the J ew — ‘ that was the part of 
a fool. Ko Christian here could buy so many horses and 
armour; no Jew except myself would give him half the values. 
But thou hast a hundred zecchins with thee in that bag,’ said 
Isaac, prying under Gurth’s cloak, ^ it is a heavy one.’ 

^ I have heads for cross-bow bolts in it,’ said Gurth, readily. 
^Well, then,’ said Isaac, panting and hesitating between 
habitual love of gain and a new-born desire to be liberal in the 
present instance, ^if I should say that I would take eighty 
zecchins for the good steed and the rich armour, which leaves 
me not a guilder’s profit, have you money to pay me ? ’ 


106 


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" Barely/ said Gurth, though the sum demanded was more 
reasonable than he expected, ^ and it will leave my master 
nigh penniless. Nevertheless, if such be your least offer, I 
must be content.’ 

^ Fill thyself another goblet of wine,’ said the Jew. ^Ah! 
eighty zecchins is too little. It leaveth no profit for the usages 
of the monies ; and, besides, the good horse may have suffered 
wrong in this day’s encounter. 0, it was a hard and a danger- 
ous meeting! man and steed rushing on each other like wild 
bulls of Bashan ! the horse cannot but have had wrong.’ 

^ And I say,’ replied Gurth, ^ he is sound, wind and limb ; 
and you may see him now in your stable. And I say, over and 
above, that seventy zecchins is enough for the armour, and I 
hope a Christian’s word is as good as a Jew’s. If you will not 
take seventy, I will carry this bag (and he shook it till the 
contents jingled) back to my master.’ 

^ Nay, nay ! ’ said Isaac ; ‘ lay down the talents — the shekels 
— the eighty zecchins, and thou shalt see I will consider thee 
liberally.’ 

Gurth at length complied; and telling out eighty zecchins 
upon the table, the Jew delivered out to him an acquittance 
for the horse and suit of armour. The Jew’s hand trembled 
for joy as he wrapped up the first seventy pieces of gold. The 
last ten he told over with much deliberation, pausing, and 
saying something as he took each piece from the table and 
dropt it into his purse. It seemed as if his avarice were 
struggling with his better nature, and compelling him to 
pouch zecchin after zecchin, while his generosity urged him to 
restore some part at least to his benefactor, or as a donation 
to his agent. His whole speech ran nearly thus : 

^ Sevent 3 ^-one, seventy-two — thy master is a good youth — 
seventy-three — an excellent youth — seventy-four — that piece 
hath been dipt within the ring — seventy-five — and that look- 
eth light of weight — seventy-six — when thy master wants 
money, let him come to Isaac of York — seventy-seven — that 
is, with reasonable security.’ Here he made a considerable 
pause, and Gurth had good hope that the last three pieces 
might escape the fate of their comrades ; but the enumeration 
proceeded — ^ Seventy-eight — thou art a good fellow — seventy- 
nine — and deservest something for thyself 

Here the Jew paused again, and looked at the last zecchin, 
intending, doubtless, to bestow it upon Gurth. He weighed it 


lYANHOE 


lor 

upon the tip of his finger, and made it ring by dropping it 
upon the table. Had it rung too fiat, or had it felt a hair’s 
breadth too light, generosity had carried the day ; but, unhap- 
pily for Gurth, the chime was full and true, the zecchin 
plump, newly coined, and a grain above weight. Isaac could 
not find in his heart to part with it, so dropt it into his purse 
as if in absence of mind, with the words, ^ Eighty completes 
the tale, and I trust thy master will reward thee handsomely. 
Surely,’ he added, looking earnestly at the bag, ^thou hast 
more coins in that pouch ? ’ 

Gurth grinned, which was his nearest approach to a laugh, 
as he replied, ' About the same quantity which thou hast just 
told over so carefully.’ He then folded the quittance, and 
put it under his cap, adding, ^ Peril of thy beard, Jew, see that 
this be full and ample ! ’ He filled himself, unbidden, a third 
goblet of wine, and left the apartment without ceremony. 

^ Kebecca,’ said the J ew, that Ishmaelite hath gone some- 
what beyond me. Nevertheless, his master is a good 3^outh; 
ay, and I am well pleased that he hath gained shekels of gold 
and shekels of silver, even by the speed of his horse and by 
the strength of his lance, which, like that of Goliath the Philis- 
tine, might vie with a weaver’s beam.’ 

As he turned to receive Eebecca’s answer, he observed that 
during his chaffering with Gurth she had left the apartment 
unperceived. 

In the meanwhile, Gurth had descended the stair, and, 
having reached the dark ante-chamber or hall, was puzzling 
about to discover the entrance, when a figure in white, shown 
by a small silver lamp which she held in her hand, beckoned 
him into a side apartment. Gurth had some reluctance to 
obey the summons. Eough and impetuous as a wild boar 
where only earthly force was to be apprehended, he had all the 
characteristic terrors of a Saxon respecting fauns, forest 
fiends, white women, and the whole of the superstitions which 
his ancestors had brought with them from the wilds of Ger- 
many. He remembered, moreover, that he was in the house of 
a Jew, a people who, besides the other unamiable qualities 
which popular report ascribed to them, were supposed to be 
profound necromancers and cabalists. Nevertheless, after a 
moment’s pause, he obeyed the beckoning summons of the 
apparition, and followed her into the apartment which she 
indicated, where he found, to his joyful surprise, that his fair 


108 


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guide was the beautiful Jewess whom he had seen at the 
tournament, and a short time in her father’s apartment. 

She asked him the particulars of his transaction with Isaac, 
which he detailed accurately. 

^ My father did but jest with thee, good fellow,’ said Re- 
becca; ^he owes thy master deeper kindness than these arms 
and steed could pay, were their value tenfold. What sum 
didst thou pay my father even now ? ’ 

^ Eighty zecchins,’ said Gurth, surprised at the question. 

^In this purse,’ said Rebecca, Hhou wilt find a hundred. 
Restore to thy master that which is his due, and enrich thyself 
with the remainder. Haste — begone — stay not to render 
thanks ! and beware how you pass through this crowded town, 
where thou mayst easily lose both thy burden and thy life. 
Reuben,’ she added, clapping her hands together, ^ light forth 
this stranger, and fail not to draw lock and bar behind him.’ 

Reuben, a dark-browed and black-bearded Israelite, obeyed 
her summons, with a torch in his hand; undid the outward 
door of the house, and conducting Gurth across a paved court, 
let him out through a wicket in the entrance-gate, which he 
closed behind him with such bolts and chains as would well 
have become that of a prison. 

^ By St. Dunstan,’ said Gurth, as he stumbled up the dark 
avenue, ^this is no Jewess, but an angel from heaven! Ten 
zecchins from my brave young master — twenty from this pearl 
of Zion ! Oh, happy day ! Such another, Gurth, will redeem 
thy bondage, and make thee a brother as free of thy guild as 
the best. And then do I lay down my swineherd’s horn and 
staff, and take the freeman’s sword and buckler, and follow 
my young master to the death, without hiding either my face 
or my name.’ 

COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

Scott now lets the reader know that the Knight and the Palmer are 
the same person. 

Why does the Knight prefer a ransom rather than the steeds and 
armour of his defeated opponents ? 

Do you see now why he is not yet ready to throw off his disguise ? 

What hint that the disguise is painful to him? 

Where did he procure his horse and armour ? 

How does Gurth happen to be serving as his squire ? 

Does Gurth know who the Knight is ? 


IVANHOE 


109 


Show how we have character-development in Ottrth. 

Notice the fine contrast between Saxon and Jewish shrewdness; and 
the contrast between Isaac and Rebecca. 

At this point is portrayed only the avaricious side of Isaac’s charac- 
ter. In this respect compare him with Shylock in Shakspeare’s * Mer- 
chant of Venice.’ 


CHAPTER XI 


1st Outlaw. Stand, sir, and throw us that you have about you ; 

If not, we will make you sit and rifle you. 

Speed. Sir, we are undone ! these are the villains 
That all the travellers do fear so much. 

Val. My friends 

1st Out. That’s not so, sir, we are your enemies. 

2d Out. Peace ! we’ll hear him, 

3d Out. Ay, by my beard, will we ; 

For he’s a proper man. ^ ^ 

Tioo Gentlemen of Verona. 


The nocturnal adventures of Gurth were not yet concluded; 
indeed, he himself became partly of that mind when, after 
passing one or two straggling houses which stood in the out- 
skirts of the village, he found himself in a deep lane, running 
between two banks overgrown with hazel and holly, while here 
and there a dwarf oak flung its arms altogether across the 
path. The lane was, moreover, much rutted and broken up 
by the carriages which had recently transported articles of 
various kinds to the tournament; and it was dark, for the 
banks and bushes intercepted the light of the harvest moon. 

From the village were heard the distant sounds of revelry, 
mixed occasionally with loud laughter, sometimes broken by 
screams, and sometimes by wild strains of distant music. All 
these sounds, intimating the disorderly state of the town, 
crowded with military nobles and their dissolute attendants, 
gave Gurth some uneasiness. ^ The Jewess was right, ^ he said 
to himself. ^ By heaven and St. Dunstan, I would I were safe 
at my journey^s end with all this treasure ! Here are such 
numbers, I will not say of arrant thieves, but of errant knights 
and errant squires, errant monks and errant minstrels, errant 
jugglers and errant jesters, that a man with a single merk 
would be in danger, much more a poor swineherd with a 
whole bagful of zecchins. Would I were out of the shade of 
these infernal bushes, that I might at least see any of St. 
Nicholas’s clerks before they spring on my shoulders ! ’ 

Gurth accordingly hastened his pace, in order to gain the 
open common to which the lane led, but was not so fortunate 

110 


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111 


as to accomplish his object. Just as he had attained the upper 
end of the lane, where the underwood was thickest, four men 
sprung upon him, even as his fears anticipated, two from each 
side of the road, and seized him so fast that resistance, if at 
first practicable, would have been now too late. ' Surrender 
your charge,’ said one of them ; ‘ we are the deliverers of the 
commonwealth, who ease every man of his burden.’ 

^ You should not ease me of mine so lightly,’ muttered 
Gurth, whose surly honesty could not be tamed even by the 
pressure of immediate violence, ‘ had I it but in my power 
to give three strokes in its defence.’ 

‘ We shall see that presently,’ said the robber ; and, speaking 
to his companions, he added, ‘ bring along the knave. I see he 
would have his head broken as well as his purse cut, and so be 
let blood in two veins at once.’ 

Gurth was hurried along agreeably to this mandate, and ' 
having been dragged somewhat roughly over the bank on the 
left-hand side of the lane, found himself in a straggling 
thicket, which lay betwixt it and the open common. He was 
compelled to follow his rough conductors into the very depth 
of this cover, where they stopt unexpectedly in an irregular 
open space, free in a great measure from trees, and on which, 
therefore, the beams of the moon fell without much interrup- 
tion from boughs and leaves. Here his captors were joined 
by two other persons, apparently belonging to the gang. They 
had short swords by their sides, and quarter-staves in their 
hands, and Gurth could now observe that all six wore visors, 
which rendered their occupation a matter of no question, even 
had their former proceedings left it in doubt. 

^ What money hast thou, churl ? ’ said one of the thieves. 

^ Thirty zecchins of my own property,’ answered Gurth, 
doggedly. 

^ A forfeit — a forfeit,’ shouted the robbers ; ^ a Saxon hath 
thirty zecchins, and returns sober from a village! An un- 
deniable and unredeemable forfeit of all he hath about him.’ 

^ I hoarded it to purchase my freedom,’ said Gurth. 

^ Thou art an ass,’ replied one of the thieves ; ‘ three quarts 
of double ale had rendered thee as free as thy master, ay, and 
freer too, if he be a Saxon like thyself.’ 

^A sad truth,’ replied Gurth; ^but if these same thirty 
zecchins will buy my freedom from you, unloose my hands and 
I will pay them to you.’ 


112 


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^ Hold/ said one who seemed to exercise some authority over 
the others ; ^ this bag which thou bearest, as I can feel through 
thy cloak, contains more coin than thou hast told us of.’ 

^It is the good knight my master’s answered Gurth, ^of 
which, assuredly, I would not have spoken a word, had you 
been satisfied with working your will upon mine own prop- 
erty.’ 

^ Thou art an honest fellow,’ replied the robber, ^ I warrant 
thee; and we worship not St. Nicholas so devoutly but what 
thy thirty zecchins may yet escape, if thou deal uprightly with 
us. Meantime, render up thy trust for the time.’ So saying, 
he took from Gurth’s breast the large leathern pouch, in which 
the purse given him by Eebecca was inclosed, as well as the 
rest of the zecchins, and then continued his interrogation — 
^ Who is thy master ? ’ 

^ The Disinherited Knight,’ said Gurth. 

^ Whose good lance,’ replied the robber, ^ won the prize in 
to-day’s tourney ? What is his name and lineage ? ’ 

^ It is his pleasure,’ answered Gurth,’ ^ that they be con- 
cealed; and from me, assuredly, you will learn nought of 
them.’ 

^ What is thine own name and lineage ? ’ 

^ To tell that,’ said Gurth, ^ might reveal my master’s.’ 

^ Thou art a saucy groom,’ said the robber ; ‘ but of that 
anon. How comes thy master by this gold? is it of his in- 
heritance, or by what means hath it accrued to him ? ’ 

^ By his good lance,’ answered Gurth. ^ These bags con- 
tain the ransom of four good horses and four good suits of 
armour.’ 

^ How much is there ? ’ demanded the robber. 

^ Two hundred zecchins.’ 

^ Only two hundred zecchins ! ’ said the bandit ; ‘ your mas- 
ter hath dealt liberally by the vanquished, and put them to a 
cheap ransom. Name those who paid the gold.’ 

Gurth did so. 

^ The armour and horse of the Templar Brian de Bois-Guil- 
bert — at what ransom were they held ? Thou seest thou canst 
not deceive me.’ 

^My master,’ replied Gurth, 'will take nought from the 
Templar save his life’s-blood. They are on terms of mortal 
defiance, and cannot hold courteous intercourse together.’ 

'Indeed!’ repeated the robber, and paused after he had 


IVANHOE 


113 


said the word. ^ And what wert thou now doing at Ashby with 
such a charge in thy custody ? ^ 

^ I went thither to render to Isaac the Jew of York/ replied 
Gurth, ^ the price of a suit of armour with which he fitted my 
master for this tournament.^ 

‘And how much didst thou pay to Isaac? Methinks, to 
judge by weight, there is still two hundred zecchins in this 
pouch.^ 

‘ I paid to Isaac/ said the Saxon, ‘ eighty zecchins, and he 
restored me a hundred in lieu thereof.’ 

‘ How ! what ! ’ exclaimed all the robbers at once ; ‘ darest 
thou trifle with us, that thou tellest such improbable lies ? ’ 

‘ What I tell you/ said Gurth, ‘ is as true as the moon is in 
heaven. You will find the just sum in a silken purse 
within the leathern pouch, and separate from the rest of the 
gold.’ 

‘ Bethink thee, man/ said the Captain, ‘ thou speakest of a 
Jew — of an Israelite, as unapt to restore gold as the dry sand 
of his deserts to return the cup of water which the pilgrim 
spills upon them.’ 

‘ There is no more mercy in them/ said another of the 
banditti, ‘ than in an unbribed sheriff’s officer.’ 

‘ It is, however, as I say/ said Gurth. 

‘ Strike a light instantly/ said the Captain ; ‘ I will examine 
this said purse; and if it be as this fellow says, the Jew’s 
bounty is little less miraculous than the stream which relieved 
his fathers in the wilderness.’ 

A light was procured accordingly, and the robber proceeded 
to examine the purse. The others crowded around him, and 
even two who had hold of Gurth relaxed their grasp while they 
stretched their necks to see the issue of the search. Availing 
himself of their negligence, by a sudden exertion of strength 
and activity Gurth shook himself free of their hold, and might 
have escaped, could he have resolved to leave his master’s prop- 
erty behind him. But such was no part of his intention. He 
wrenched a quarter-staff from one of the fellows, struck down 
the Captain, who was altogether unaware of his purpose, and 
had wellnigh repossessed himself of the pouch and treasure. 
The thieves, however, were too nimble for him, and again 
secured both the bag and the trusty Gurth. 

‘ Knave ! ’ said the Captain, getting up, ‘ thou hast broken 
my head, and with other men of our sort thou wouldst fare 


114 


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the worse for thy insolence. But thou shalt know thy fate 
instantly. First let us speak of thy master ; the knight’s mat- 
ters must go before the squire’s, according to the due order 
of chivalry. Stand thou fast in the meantime; if thou stir 
again, thou shalt have that will make thee quiet for thy life. 
Comrades ! ’ he then said, addressing his gang, ^ this purse is 
embroidered with Hebrew characters, and I well believe the 
yeoman’s tale is true. The errant knight, his master, must 
needs pass us toll-free. He is too like ourselves for us to make 
booty of him, since dogs should not worry dogs where wolves 
and foxes are to be found in abundance.’ 

^ Like us ! ’ answered one of the gang ; ‘ I should like to 
hear how that is made good.’ 

^ Why, thou fool,’ answered the Captain, ^ is he not poor and 
disinherited as we are ? Doth he not win his substance at the 
sword’s point as we do? Hath he not beaten Front-de-Boeuf 
and Malvoisin, even as we would beat them if we could? Is 
he not the enemy to life and death of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
whom we have so much reason to fear? And were all this 
otherwise, wouldst thou have us show a worse conscience than 
an unbeliever, a Hebrew Jew ? ’ 

^ Nay, that were a shame,’ muttered the other fellow; ^ and 
yet, when I served in the band of stout old Gandelyn, we had 
no such scruples of conscience. And this insolent peasant — he 
too, I warrant me, is to be dismissed scatheless ? ’ 

^ Not if thou canst scathe him,’ replied^ the Captain. ^ Here, 
fellow,’ continued he, addressing Gurth, ^ canst thou use the 
staff, that thou startst to it so readily ? ’ 

^ I think,’ said Gurth, ^ thou shouldst be best able to reply 
to that question.’ 

^ Nay, by my troth, thou gavest me a round knock,’ replied 
the Captain ; ‘ do as much for this fellow, and thou shalt pass 
scot-free ; and if thou dost not — why, by my faith, as thou art 
such a sturdy knave, I think I must pay thy ransom myself. 
Take thy staff. Miller,’ he added, ^ and keep thy head ; and do 
you others let the fellow go, and give him a staff — there is 
light enough to lay on load by.’ 

The two champions, being alike armed with quarter-staves, 
stepped forward into the centre of the open space, in order to 
have the full benefit of the moonlight ; the thieves in the mean- 
time laughing, and crying to their comrade, ‘ Miller ! beware 
thy toll-dish.’ The Miller, on the other hand, holding his 


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115 


quarter-staff by the middle, and making it flourish round his 
head after the fashion which the French call faire le moulinet, 
exclaimed boastfully, ‘ Come on, churl, an thou darest : thou 
shalt feel the strength of a miller’s thumb ! ’ 

^ If thou be’st a miller/ answered Gurth, undauntedly, mak- 
ing his weapon play around his head with equal dexterity, 
^thou art doubly a thief, and I, as a true man, bid thee 
deflance.’ 

So saying, the two champions closed together, and for a few 
minutes they displayed great equality in strength, courage, 
and skill, intercepting and returning the blows of their adver- 
sary with the most rapid dexterity, while, from the continued 
clatter of their weapons, a person at a distance might have 
supposed that there were at least six persons engaged on each 
side. Less obstinate, and even less dangerous, combats have 
been described in good heroic verse ; but that of Gurth and the 
Miller must remain unsung, for want of a sacred poet to do 
justice to its eventful progress. Yet, though quarter-staff play 
be out of date, what we can in prose we will do for these bold 
champions. 

Long they fought equally, until the Miller began to lose 
temper at finding himself so stoutly opposed, and at hearing 
the laughter of his companions, who, as usual in such cases, 
enjoyed his vexation. This was not a state of mind favourable 
to the noble game of quarter-staff, in which, as in ordinary 
cudgel-playing, the utmost coolness is requisite; and it gave 
Gurth, whose temper was steady, though surly, the opportunity 
of acquiring a decided advantage, in availing himself of which 
he displayed great mastery. 

The Miller pressed furiously forward, dealing blows with 
either end of his weapon alternately, and striving to come to 
half-staff distance, while Gurth defended himself against the 
attack, keeping his hands about a yard asunder, and covering 
himself by shifting his weapon with great celerity, so as to pro- 
tect his head and body. Thus did he maintain the defensive, 
making his eye, foot, and hand keep true time, until, observ- 
ing his antagonist to lose wind, he darted the staff at his face 
with his left hand; and, as the Miller endeavoured to parry 
the thrust, he slid his right hand down to his left, and with 
the full swing of the weapon struck his opponent on the left 
side of the head, who instantly measured his length upon the 
green sward. 


116 


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^ Well and yeomanly done ! ’ shouted the robbers ; ^ fair play 
and Old England for ever! The Saxon has saved both his 
pnrse and his hide, and the Miller has met his match.’ 

‘ Thou mayst go thy ways, my friend,’ said the Captain, 
addressing Gurth, in special confirmation of the general voice, 
^and I will cause two of my comrades to guide thee by the 
best way to thy master’s pavilion, and to guard thee from 
night-walkers that might have less tender consciences than 
ours; for there is many one of them upon the amble in such 
a night as this. Take heed, however,’ he added sternly ; ^ re- 
member thou hast refused to tell thy name; ask not after 
ours, nor endeavour to discover who or what we are, for, if 
thou makest such an attempt, thou wilt come by worse fortune 
than has yet befallen thee.’ 

Gurth thanked the Captain for his courtesy, and promised 
to attend to his recommendation. Two of the outlaws, taking 
up their quarter-staves, and desiring Gurth to follow close in 
the rear, walked roundly forward along a bye-path, which 
traversed the thicket and the broken ground adjacent to it. 
On the very verge of the thicket two men spoke to his con- 
ductors, and receiving an answer in a whisper, withdrew into 
the wood, and suffered them to pass unmolested. The circum- 
stance induced Gurth to believe both that the gang was strong 
in numbers, and that they kept regular guards around their 
place of rendezvous. 

When they arrived on the open heath, where Gurth might 
have had some trouble in finding his road, the thieves guided 
him straight forward to the top of a little eminence, whence 
he could see, spread beneath him in the moonlight, the pali- 
sades of the lists, the glimmering pavilions pitched at either 
end, with the pennons which adorned them fluttering in the 
moonbeam, and from which could be heard the hum of the 
song with which the sentinels were beguiling their night- 
watch. 

Here the thieves stopt. 

^We go with you no farther,’ said they; ^it were not safe 
that we should do so. Remember the warning you have re- 
ceived: keep secret what has this night befallen you, and you 
will have no room to repent it ; neglect what is now told you, 
and the Tower of London shall not protect you against our 
revenge.’ 

‘ Good-night to you, kind sirs,’ said Gurth ; ^ I shall remem- 


IVANHOE 


117 


ber your orders, and trust that there is no offence in wishing 
you a safer and an honester trade/ 

Thus they parted, the outlaws returning in the direction 
from whence they had come, and Gurth proceeding to the tent 
of his master, to whom, notwithstanding the injunction he 
had received, he communicated the whole adventures of the 
evening. 

The Disinherited Knight was filled with astonishment, no 
less at the generosity of Rebecca, by which, however, he re- 
solved he would not profit, than that of the robbers, to whose 
profession such a quality seemed totally foreign. His course 
of refiections upon these singular circumstances was, however, 
interrupted by the necessity for taking repose, which the 
fatigue of the preceding day and the propriety of refreshing 
himself for the morrow’s encounter rendered alike indispensa- 
ble. 

^ The knight, therefore, stretched himself for repose upon a 
rich couch with which the tent was provided ; and the faithful 
Gurth, extending his hardy limbs upon a bear-skin which 
formed a sort of carpet to the pavilion, laid himself across the 
opening of the tent, so that no one could enter without awak- 
ening him. 

COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

This and the preceding chapter serve to fill in the time between the 
two days of the tournament. The nightly adventures of Gurth may be 
said to form a comic interlude much like the comic scenes with which 
Shakspeare divides the more serious parts of his plays. The combat 
between Gurth and the Miller with quarter-staves is a sort of burlesque 
of the encounter between the knights. In the previous chapter was 
brought out the shrewdness of Gurth. What new aspect of his character 
is presented here ? 

In what way does Scott manage to enlist our sympathy for a band of 
outlaws ? 

Does he also awaken our curiosity to know who they are 7 


CHAPTEE XII 


The heralds left their pricking up and down, 

Now ringen trumpets loud and clarion. 

There is no more to say, but east and west, 

In go the speares sadly in the rest, 

In goth the sharp spur into the side. 

There see men who can just and who can ride ; 

There shiver shaftes upon shieldes thick. 

He feeleth through the heart-spone the prick ; 

Up springen speares, twenty feet in height, 

Out go the swordes to the silver bright ; 

The helms they to-hewn and to-shred : 

Out bursts the blood with stern streames red. 

Chaucer. 

Mobning arose in unclouded splendour, and ere the sun was 
much above the horizon the idlest or the most eager of the 
spectators appeared on the common, moving to the lists as to a 
general centre, in order to secure a favourable situation for 
viewing the continuation of the expected games. 

The marshals and their attendants appeared next on the 
field, together with the heralds, for the purpose of receiving 
the names of the knights who intended to just, with the side 
which each chose to espouse. This was a necessary precau- 
tion, in order to secure equality betwixt the two bodies who 
should be opposed to each other. 

According to due formality, the Disinherited Knight was to 
be considered as leader of the one bod}^, while Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, who had been rated as having done second-best in 
the preceding day, was named first champion of the other 
band. Those who had concurred in the challenge adhered to 
his party, of course, excepting only Kalph de Vipont, whom 
his fall had rendered unfit so soon to put on his armour. 
There was no want of distinguished and noble candidates to 
fill up the ranks on either side. 

In fact, although the general tournament, in which all 
knights fought at once, was more dangerous than single en- 
counters, they were, nevertheless, more frequented and prac- 

118 


lYANHOE 


119 


tised by the chivalry of the age. Many knights, who had not 
sufficient confidence in their own skill to defy a single adver- 
sary of high reputation, were, nevertheless, desirous of display- 
ing their valour in the general combat, where they might 
meet others with whom they were more upon an equality. On 
the present occasion, about fifty knights were inscribed as 
desirous of combating upon each side, when the marshals de- 
clared that no more could be admitted, to the disappointment 
of several who were too late in preferring their claim to be 
included. 

About the hour of ten o’clock the whole plain was crowded 
with horsemen, horsewomen, and foot-passengers, hastening to 
the tournament; and shortly after, a grand flourish of trum- 
pets announced Prince John and his retinue, attended by 
many of those knights who meant to take share in the game, 
as well as others who had no such intention. 

About the same time arrived Cedric the Saxon, with the 
Lady Eowena, unattended, however, by Athelstane. This 
Saxon lord had arrayed his tall and strong person in armour, 
in order to take his place among the combatants; and, con- 
siderably to the surprise of Cedric, had chosen to enlist him- 
self on the part of the Knight Templar. The Saxon, indeed, 
had remonstrated strongly with his friend upon the inju- 
dicious choice he had made of his party; but he had only 
received that sort of answer usually given by those who are 
more obstinate in following their own course than strong in 
justifying it. 

His best, if not his only, reason for adhering to the party of 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert, Athelstane had the prudence to keep 
to himself. Though his apathy of disposition prevented his 
taking any means to recommend himself to the Lady Eowena, 
he was, nevertheless, by no means insensible to her charms, 
and considered his union with her as a matter already fixed 
beyond doubt by the assent of Cedric and her other friends. 
It had therefore been with smothered displeasure that the 
proud though indolent Lord of Coningsburgh beheld the victor 
of the preceding day select Eowena as the object of that 
honour which it became his privilege to confer. In order to 
punish him for a preference which seemed to interfere with his 
own suit, Athelstane, confident of his strength, and to whom 
his flatterers, at least, ascribed great skill in arms, had de- 
termined not only to deprive the Disinherited Knight of his 


120 


IVANHOE 


powerful succour, but, if an opportunity should occur, to make 
him feel the weight of his battle-axe. 

De Bracy, and other knights attached to Prince John, in 
obedience to a hint from him, had joined the party of the 
challengers, John being desirous to secure, if possible, the 
victory to that side. On the other hand, many other knights, 
both English and Norman, natives and strangers, took part 
against the challengers, the more readily that the opposite 
band was to be led by so distinguished a champion as the Dis- 
inherited Knight had approved himself. 

As soon as Prince John observed that the destined Queen 
of the day had arrived upon the field, assuming that air of 
courtesy which sat well upon him when he was pleased to ex- 
hibit it, he rode forward to meet her, doffed his bonnet, and, 
alighting from his horse, assisted the Lady Eowena from her 
saddle, while his followers uncovered at the same time, and 
one of the most distinguished dismounted to hold her palfrey. 

^ It was thus,^ said Prince J ohn, ^ that we set the dutiful 
example of loyalty to the Queen of Love and Beauty, and are 
ourselves her guide to the throne which she must this day 
occupy. Ladies,^ he said, ^ attend your Queen, as you wish in 
your turn to be distinguished by like honours.’ 

So saying, the Prince marshalled Eowena to the seat of 
honour opposite his own, while the fairest and most dis- 
tinguished ladies present crowded after her to obtain places as 
near as possible to their temporary sovereign. 

No sooner was Eowena seated than a burst of music, half- 
drowned by the shouts of the multitude, greeted her new 
dignity. Meantime, the sun shone fierce and bright upon the 
polished arms of the knights of either side, who crowded the 
opposite extremities of the lists, and held eager conference 
together concerning the best mode of arranging their line of 
battle and supporting the conflict. 

The heralds then proclaimed silence until the laws of the 
tourney should be rehearsed. These were calculated in some 
degree to abate the dangers of the day — a precaution the more 
necessary as the conflict was to be maintained with sharp 
swords and pointed lances. 

The champions were therefore prohibited to thrust with the 
sword, and were confined to striking. A knight, it was an- 
nounced, might use a mace or a battle-axe at pleasure ; but the 
dagger was a prohibited weapon. A knight unhorsed might 


IVANHOE 


121 


renew the fight on foot with any other on the opposite side 
in the same predicament ; but mounted horsemen were in that 
case forbidden to assail him. When any knight could force 
his antagonist to the extremity of the lists, so as to touch the 
palisade with his person or arms, such opponent was obliged 
to yield himself vanquished, and his armour and horse were 
placed at the disposal of the conqueror. A knight thus over- 
come was not permitted to take farther share in the combat. 
If any combatant was struck down, and unable to recover his 
feet, his squire or page might enter the lists and drag his 
master out of the press; but in that case the knight was 
adjudged vanquished, and his arms and horse declared for- 
feited. The combat was to cease as soon as Prince John 
should throw down his leading staff, or truncheon — another 
precaution usually taken to prevent the unnecessary effusion 
of blood by the too long endurance of a sport so desperate. 
Any knight breaking the rules of the tournament, or other- 
wise transgressing the rules of honourable chivalry, was liable 
to be stript of his arms, and, having his shield reversed, to be 
placed in that posture astride upon the bars of the palisade, 
and exposed to public derision, in punishment of his un- 
knightly conduct. Having announced these precautions, the 
heralds concluded with an exhortation to each good knight to 
do his duty, and to merit favour from the Queen of Beauty 
and Love. 

This proclamation having been made, the heralds withdrew 
to their stations. The knights, entering at either end of the 
lists in long procession, arranged themselves in a double file, 
precisely opposite to each other, the leader of each party being 
in the centre of the foremost rank, a post which he did not 
occupy until each had carefully arranged the ranks of his 
party, and stationed every one in his place. 

It was a goodly, and at the same time an anxious, sight to 
behold so many gallant champions, mounted bravely and 
armed richly, stand ready prepared for an encounter so for- 
midable, seated on their war-saddles like so many pillars of 
iron, and awaiting the signal of encounter with the same 
ardour as their generous steeds, which, by neighing and paw- 
ing the ground, gave signal of their impatience. 

As yet the knights held their long lances upright, their 
bright points glancing to the sun, and the streamers with 
which they were decorated fluttering over the plumage of the 


122 


IVAXHOE 


helmets. Thus they remained while the marshals of the field 
surveyed their ranks with the utmost exactness, lest either 
party had more or fewer than the appointed number. The 
tale was found exactly complete. The marshals then with- 
drew from the lists, and William de Wyvil, with a voice of 
thunder, pronounced the signal words — ' Laissez aller!' The 
trumpets sounded as he spoke; the spears of the champions 
were at once lowered and placed in the rests; the spurs were 
dashed into the flanks of the horses; and the two foremost 
ranks of either party rushed upon each other in full gallop, 
and met in the middle of the lists with a shock the sound of 
which was heard at a mile’s distance. The rear rank of each 
party advanced at a slower pace to sustain the defeated, and 
follow up the success of the victors, of their party. 

The consequences of the encounter were not instantly seen, 
^ for the dust raised by the trampling of so many steeds dark- 
ened the air, and it was a minute ere the anxious spectators 
could see the fate of the encounter. When the fight became 
visible, half the knights on each side were dismounted — some 
by the dexterity of their adversary’s lance ; some by the supe- 
rior weight and strength of opponents, which had borne down 
both horse and man ; some lay stretched on earth as if never 
more to rise; some had already gained their feet, and were 
closing hand to hand with those of their antagonists who were 
in the same predicament ; and several on both sides, who had 
received wounds by which they were disabled, were stopping 
their blood by their scarfs, and endeavouring to extricate 
themselves from the tumult. The mounted knights, whose 
lances had been almost all broken by the fury of the encoun- 
ter, were now closely engaged with their swords, shouting 
their war-cries, and exchanging buffets, as if honour and life 
depended on the issue of the combat. 

The tumult was presently increased by the advance of the 
second rank on either side, which, acting as a reserve, now 
rushed on to aid* their companions. The followers of Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert snouted — 'Ha! Beau-seant ! Beau-seant I * For 
the Temple ! For the Temple ! ’ The opposite party shouted 
in answer — ' Desdichado! * Desdichado! ^ which watchword 
they took from the motto upon their leader’s shield. 

* Bcau-sennt was the name of the Templars’ banner, which was half 
black, half white, to intimate, it is said, that they were candid and fair 
towards Christians, but black and terrible towards infidels. 


IVANHOE 


123 


The champions thus encountering each other with the 
utmost fury, and with alternate success, the tide of battle 
seemed to flow now toward the southern, now toward the 
northern, extremity of the lists, as the one or the other party 
prevailed. Meantime the clang of the blows and the shouts 
of the combatants mixed fearfully with the sound of the 
trumpets, and drowned the groans of those who fell, and lay 
rolling defenceless beneath the feet of the horses. The 
splendid armour of the combatants was now defaced with dust 
and blood, and gave way at every stroke of the sword and 
battle-axe. The gay plumage, shorn from the crests, drifted 
upon the breeze like snowflakes. All that was beautiful and 
graceful in the martial array had disappeared, and what 
was now visible was only calculated to awake terror or com- 
passion. 

Yet such is the force of habit, that not only the vulgar 
spectators, who are naturally attracted by sights of horror, but 
even the ladies of distinction, who crowded the galleries, saw 
the conflict with a thrilling interest certainly, but without a 
wish to withdraw their eyes from a sight so terrible. Here 
and there, indeed, a fair cheek might turn pale, or a faint 
scream might be heard, as a lover, a brother, or a husband was 
struck from his horse. But, in general, the ladies around en- 
couraged the combatants, not only by clapping their hands and 
waving their veils and kerchiefs, but even by exclaiming, 
^ Brave lance ! Good sword ! ^ when any successful thrust or 
blow took place under their observation. 

Such being the interest taken by the fair sex in this bloody 
game, that of the men is the more easily understood. It 
showed itself in loud acclamations upon every change of for- 
tune, while all eyes were so riveted on the lists that the spec- 
tators seemed as if they themselves had dealt and received the 
blows which were there so freely bestowed. And between every 
pause was heard the voice of the heralds, exclaiming, ^ Fight 
on, brave knights! Man dies, but glory lives! Fight on; 
death is better than defeat! Fight on, brave knights; for 
bright eyes behold your deeds ! ’ 

Amid the varied fortunes of the combat, the eyes of all en- 
deavoured to discover the leaders of each band, who, mingling 
in the thick of the fight, encouraged their companions both by 
voice and example. Both displayed great feats of gallantry, 
nor did either Bois-Guilbert or the Disinherited Knight find 


124 : 


IVANHOE 


in the ranks opposed to them a champion who could be termed 
their unquestioned match. They repeatedly endeavoured to 
single out each other, spurred by mutual animosit}^, and aware 
that the fall of either leader might be considered as decisive of 
victory. Such, however, was the crowd and confusion that, 
during the earlier part of the conflict, their efforts to meet 
were unavailing and they were repeatedly separated by the 
eagerness of their followers, each of whom was anxious to win 
honour by measuring his strength against the leader of the 
opposite party. 

But when the field became thin by the numbers on either 
side who had yielded themselves vanquished, had been com- 
pelled to the extremity of the lists, or been otherwise rendered 
incapable of continuing the strife, the Templar and the Disin- 
herited Knight at length encountered hand to hand, with all 
the fury that mortal animosity, joined to rivalry of honour, 
could inspire. Such was the address of each in parrying and 
striking, that the spectators broke forth into a unanimous and 
involuntary shout, expressive of their delight and admira- 
tion. 

But . at this moment the party of the Disinherited Knight 
had the worst ; the gigantic arm of Front-de-Boeuf on the one 
flank, and the ponderous strength of Athelstane on the other, 
bearing down and dispersing those immediately exposed to 
them. Finding themselves freed from their immediate antag- 
onists, it seems to have occurred to both these knights at the 
same instant that they would render the most decisive advan- 
tage to their party by aiding the Templar in his contest with 
his rival. Turning their horses, therefore, at the same mo- 
ment, the Norman spurred against the Disinherited Knight 
on the one side and the Saxon on the other. It was utterly 
impossible that the object of this unequal and unexpected 
assault could have sustained it, had he not been warned by a 
general cry from the spectators, who could not but take in- 
terest in one exposed to such disadvantage. 

‘ Beware ! beware ! Sir Disinherited ! ^ was shouted so uni- 
versally that the knight became aware of his danger; and 
striking a full blow at the Templar, he reined back his steed 
in the same moment, so as to escape the charge of Athelstane 
and Front-de-Boeuf. These knights, therefore, their aim 
being thus eluded, rushed from opposite sides betwixt the ob- 
ject of their attack and the Templar, almost running their 


IVANHOE 


125 


horses against each other ere they could stop their career. 
Recovering their horses, however, and wheeling them round, 
the whole three pursued their united purpose of bearing to the 
earth the Disinherited Knight. 

Nothing could have saved him except the remarkable 
strength and activity of the noble horse which he had won on 
the preceding day. 

This stood him in the more stead, as the horse of Bois-Guil- 
bert was wounded, and those of Front-de-Boeuf and Athelstane 
were both tired with the weight of their gigantic masters, clad 
in complete armour, and with the preceding exertions of the 
day. The masterly horsemanship of the Disinherited Knight, 
and the activity of the noble animal which he mounted, en- 
abled him for a few minutes to keep at sword’s point his three 
antagonists, turning and wheeling with the agility of a hawk 
upon the wing, keeping his enemies as far separate as he could, 
and rushing now against the one, now against the other, 
dealing sweeping blows with his sword, without waiting to 
receive those which were aimed at him in return. 

But although the lists rang with the applause of his dex- 
terity, it was evident that he must at last be overpowered; 
and the nobles around Prince John implored him with one 
voice to throw down his warder, and to save so brave a knight 
from the disgrace of being overcome by odds. 

^Not I, by the light of Heaven!’ answered Prince John; 
^this same springal, who conceals his name and despises our 
proffered hospitality, hath already gained one prize, and may 
now afford to let others have their turn.’ As he spoke thus, 
an unexpected incident changed the fortune of the day. 

There was among the ranks of the Disinherited Knight a 
champion in black armour, mounted on a black horse, large of 
size, tall, and to all appearance powerful and strong, like the 
rider by whom he was mounted. This knight, who bore on his 
shield no device of any kind, had hitherto evinced very little 
interest in the event of the fight, beating off with seeming ease 
those combatants who attacked him, but neither pursuing his 
advantages nor himself assailing any one. In short, he had 
hitherto acted the part rather of a spectator than of a party in 
the tournament, a circumstance which procured him among 
the spectators the name of Le Noir Faineant^ or the Black 
Sluggard. 

At once this knight seemed to throw aside his apathy, when 


126 


IVANHOE 


he discovered the leader of his party so hard bested; for, set- 
ting spurs to his horse, which was quite fresh, he came to his 
assistance like a thunderbolt, exclaiming, in a voice like a 
trumpet-call, '' Desdichado, to the rescue ! ^ It was high time ; 
for, while the Disinherited Knight was pressing upon the 
Templar, Front-de-Bceuf had got nigh to him with his up- 
lifted sword ; but ere the blow could descend, the Sable Knight 
dealt a stroke on his head, which, glancing from the polished 
helmet, lighted with violence scarcely abated on the chamfron 
of the steed, and Front-de-Boeuf rolled on the ground, both 
horse and man equally stunned by the fury of the blow. 
Le Noir Faineant then turned his horse upon Athelstane of 
Coningsburgh ; and his own sword having been broken in his 
encounter with Front-de-Boeuf, he wrenched from the hand 
of the bulky Saxon the battle-axe which he wielded, and, like 
one familiar with the use of the weapon, bestowed him such a 
blow upon the crest that Athelstane also lay senseless on the 
field. Having achieved this double feat, for which he was the 
more highly applauded that it was totally unexpected from 
him, the knight seemed to resume the sluggishness of his char- 
acter, returning calmly to the northern extremity of the lists, 
leaving his leader to cope as he best could with Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert. This was no longer matter of so much difficulty 
as formerly. The Templar’s horse had bled much, and gave 
way under the shock of the Disinherited Knight’s charge. 
Brian de Bois-Guilbert rolled on the field, encumbered with 
the stirrup, from which he was unable to draw his foot. His 
antagonist sprung from horseback, waved his fatal sword over 
the head of his adversary, and commanded him to yield him- 
self; when Prince John, more moved by the Templar’s danger- 
ous situation than he had been by that of his rival, saved him 
the mortification of confessing himself vanquished, by casting 
do^vn his warder and putting an end to the conflict. 

It was, indeed, only the relics and embers of the fight which 
continued to burn ; for of the few knights who still continued 
in the lists, the greater part had, by tacit consent, forborne the 
conflict for some time, leaving it to be determined by the 
strife of the leaders. 

The squires, who had found it a matter of danger and diffi- 
culty to attend their masters during the engagement, now 
thronged into the lists to pay their dutiful attendance to the 
wounded, who were removed with the utmost care and atten- 


IVANHOE 


127 


tion to the neighbouring pavilions, or to the quarters prepared 
for them in the adjoining village. 

Thus ended the memorable field of Ashby-de-la-Zouche, one 
of the most gallantly contested tournaments of that age; for 
although only four knights, including one who was smothered 
by the heat of his armour, had died upon the field, 3^et up- 
wards of thirty were desperately wounded, four or five of 
whom never recovered. Several more were disabled for life; 
and those who escaped best carried the marks of the conflict to 
the grave with them. Hence it is always mentioned in the old 
records as the ‘gentle and joyous passage of arms of Ashby.’ 

It being now the duty of Prince John to name the knight 
who had done best, he determined that the honour of the day 
remained with the knight whom the popular voice had termed 
Le Noir Faineant. It was pointed out to the Prince, in im- 
peachment of this decree, that the victory had been in fact 
won by the Disinherited Knight, who, in the course of the day, 
had overcome six champions with his own hand, and who had 
finally unhorsed and struck down the leader of the opposite 
party. But Prince John adhered to his own opinion, on the 
ground that the Disinherited Knight and his party had lost 
the day but for the powerful assistance of the Knight of the 
Black Armour, to whom, therefore, he persisted in awarding 
the prize. 

To the surprise of all present, however, the knight thus 
preferred was nowhere to be found. He had left the lists 
immediately when the conflict ceased, and had been observed 
by some spectators to move down one of the forest glades with 
the same slow pace and listless and indifferent manner which 
had procured him the epithet of the Black Sluggard. After 
he had been summoned twice by sound of trumpet and procla- 
mation of the heralds, it became necessary to name another to 
receive the honours which had been assigned to him. Prince 
John had now no further excuse for resisting the claim of the 
Disinherited Knight, whom, therefore, he named the cham- 
pion of the day. 

Through a field slippery -with blood and encumbered with 
broken armour and the bodies of slain and wounded horses, 
the marshals of the lists again conducted the victor to the foot 
of Prince John’s throne. 

‘ Disinherited Knight,’ said Prince John, ‘ since by that title 
only you will consent to be known to us, we a second time 


128 


IVANHOE 


award to you the honours of this tournament, and announce 
to you your right to claim and receive from the hands of the 
Queen of Love and Beauty the chaplet of honour which your 
valour has justly deserved/ 

The Knight bowed low and gracefully, but returned no 
answer. 

While the trumpets sounded, while the heralds strained 
their voices in proclaiming honour to the brave and glory to 
the victor, while ladies waved their silken kerchiefs and em- 
broidered veils, and while all ranks joined in a clamorous 
shout of exultation, the marshals conducted the Disinherited 
Knight across the lists to the foot of that throne of honour 
which was occupied by the Lady Eowena. 

On the lower step of this throne the champion was made to 
kneel down. Indeed, his whole action since the fight had 
ended seemed rather to have been upon the impulse of those 
around him than from his own free will ; and it was observed 
that he tottered as they guided him the second time across the 
lists. Eowena, descending from her station with a graceful 
and dignified step, was about to place the chaplet which she 
held in her hand upon the helmet of the champion, when the 
marshals exclaimed with one voice, ^ It must not be thus ; his 
head must be bare.^ The knight muttered faintly a few words, 
which were lost in the hollow of his helmef ; but their purport 
seemed to be a desire that his casque might not be removed. 

Whether from love of form or from curiosity, the marshals 
paid no attention to his expressions of reluctance, but un- 
helmed him by cutting the laces of his casque, and undoing 
the fastening of his gorget. When the helmet was removed, 
the well-formed yet sun-burnt features of a young man of 
twenty-five were seen, amidst a profusion of short fair hair. 
His countenance was as pale as death, and marked in one or 
two places with streaks of blood. 

Eowena had no sooner beheld him than she uttered a faint 
shriek; but at once summoning up the energy of her disposi- 
tion, and compelling herself, as it were, to proceed, while her 
frame yet trembled with the violence of sudden emotion, she 
placed upon the drooping head of the victor the splendid chap- 
let which was the destined reward of the day, and pronounced 
in a clear and distinct tone these words : ‘ I bestow on thee 
this chaplet. Sir Knight, as the meed of valour assigned to this 
day’s victor.’ Here she paused a moment, and then firmly 


IVANHOE 129 

added, ^ And upon brows more worthy could a wreath of 
chivalry never be placed ! ^ 

The knight stooped his head and kissed the hand of the 
lovely Sovereign by whom his valour had been rewarded ; and 
then, sinking yet farther forward, lay prostrate at her feet. 

There was a general consternation. Cedric, who had been 
struck mute by the sudden appearance of his banished son, 
now rushed forward, as if to separate him from Kowena. But 
this had been already accomplished by the marshals of the 
field, who, guessing the cause of Ivanhoe’s swoon, had hastened 
to undo his armour, and found that the head of a lance had 
penetrated his breastplate and inflicted a wound in his side. 

COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

To use a dramatic term, this scene is one of the crises in the main plot. 
Scott earlier led us to suspect that the Disinherited Knight might be 
the Palmer ; then it came out that our guess was true ; the name of the 
Knight and his association with Gurth were hints that he was the dis- 
inherited son of Cedric ; and it now proves to be so. 

Could Ivanhoe’s identity have been longer concealed to the pleasure 
of the reader? 

Was it necessary for him to lay bare his head ? 

How does the revelation affect Rowena and Cedric ? 

Prodigal of invention, Scott introduces a new mystery in the unex- 
pected entrance and disappearance of the Knight of the Black Armour. 
Has there been any hint as to who he may be ? 

A new mystery is also to envelop the Disinherited Knight, for he is 
carried away severely wounded. 

How does this day's tournament differ from the one on the previous 
day ? 

What laws governing the mel^e are proclaimed by the heralds ? 

Kxplain the conduct of Athelstane. 

Describe the combat in detail. 

Why do Isaac and Rebecca drop out of the scene at this point ? 


CHAPTEE XIII 


‘ Heroes, approach ! ’ Atrides thus aloud ; 

‘ Stand forth distinguish’d from the circling crowd, 

Ye who by skill or manly force may claim 
Your rivals to surpass and merit fame. 

This cow, worth twenty oxen, is decreed 
For him who farthest sends the winged reed.’ 

Iliad. 

The name of Ivanhoe was no sooner pronounced than it flew 
from mouth to mouth with all the celerity with which eager- 
ness could convey and curiosity receive it. It was not long 
ere it reached the circle of the Prince, whose brow darkened 
as he heard the news. Looking around him, however, with an 
air of scorn, ^ My lords,’ said he, ^ and especially you. Sir 
Prior, what think ye of the doctrine the learned tell us con- 
cerning innate attractions and antipathies ? Methinks that I 
felt the presence of my brother’s minion, even when I least 
guessed whom yonder suit of armour inclosed.’ 

^ Front-de-Boeuf must prepare to restore his fief of Ivanhoe,’ 
said De Bracy, who, having discharged his part honourably in 
the tournament, had laid his shield and helmet aside, and 
again mingled with the Prince’s retinue. 

^ Ay,’ answered Waldemar Fitzurse, ^ this gallant is likely to 
reclaim the castle and manor which Eichard assigned to him, 
and which your Highness’s generosity has since given to 
Front-de-Bceuf.’ 

^ Front-de-BoGuf,’ replied John, Ms a man more willing to 
swallow three manors such as Ivanhoe than to disgorge one of 
them. For the rest, sirs, I hope none here will deny my right 
to, confer the fiefs of the crown upon the faithful followers 
who are around me, and ready to perform the usual military 
service, in the room of those who have wandered to foreign 
countries, and can neither render homage nor service when 
called upon.’ 

The audience were too much interested in the question not 
to pronounce the Prince’s assumed right altogether indubita- 

130 


IVANHOE 


131 


ble. " A generous Prince ! a most noble Lord, who thus takes 
upon himself the task of rewarding his faithful followers ! ’ 

Such were the words which burst from the train, expectants 
all of them of similar grants at the expense of King Eichard’s 
followers and favourites, if indeed they had not as yet received 
such. Prior Aymer also assented to the general proposition, 
observing, however, ^ That the blessed Jerusalem could not in- 
deed be termed a foreign country. She was communis mater 
— the mother of all Christians. But he saw not,^ he declared, 
^ how the Knight of Ivanhoe could plead any advantage from 
this, since he (the Prior) was assured that the crusaders under 
Eichard had never proceeded much farther than Askalon, 
which, as all the world knew, was a town of the Philistines, 
and entitled to none of the privileges of the Holy City.^ 

Waldemar, whose curiosity had led him towards the place 
where Ivanhoe had fallen to the ground, now returned. ‘ The 
gallant,^ said he, ^ is likely to give your Highness little disturb- 
ance, and to leave Front-de-Boeuf in the quiet possession of his 
gains ; he is severely wounded.^ 

^ Whatever becomes of him,’ said Prince John, ^ he is victor 
of the day; and were he tenfold our enemy, or the devoted 
friend of our brother, which is perhaps the same, his wounds 
must be looked to; our own physician shall attend him.’ 

A stern smile curled the Prince’s lip as he spoke. Waldemar 
Fitzurse hastened to reply that Ivanhoe was already removed 
from the lists, and in the custody of his friends. 

^ I was somewhat afflicted,’ he said, ^ to see the grief of the 
Queen of Love and Beauty, whose sovereignty of a day this 
event has changed into mourning. I am not a man to be 
moved by a woman’s lament for her lover, but this same Lady 
Eowena suppressed her sorrow with such dignity of manner 
that it could only be discovered by her folded hands and her 
tearless eye, which trembled as it remained fixed on the lifeless 
form before her.’ 

^ Who is this Lady Eowena,’ said Prince J ohn, ^ of whom we 
have heard so much ? ’ 

^A Saxon heiress of large possessions,’ replied the Prior 
Aymer ; ^ a rose of loveliness, and a jewel of wealth ; the fairest 
among a thousand, a bundle of myrrh, and a cluster of 
camphire.’ 

^ We shall cheer her sorrows,’ said Prince John, ^ and amend 
her blood, by wedding her to a Korman. She seems a minor. 


132 


IVANHOE 


and must therefore be at our royal disposal in marriage. How 
sayst thou, De Bracy? What thinkst thou of gaining fair 
lands and livings, by wedding a Saxon, after the fashion of the 
followers of the Conqueror ? ^ 

^ If the lands are to my liking, my lord,’ answered De Bracy, 
^ It will be hard to displease me with a bride ; and deeply will 
I hold myself bound to your Highness for a good deed, which 
will fulfil all promises made in favour of your servant and 
vassal.’ 

^ We will not forget it,’ said Prince J ohn ; ^ and that we 
may instantly go to work, command our seneschal presently to 
order the attendance of the Lady Kowena and her company — 
that is, the rude churl her guardian, and the Saxon ox whom 
the Black Knight struck down in the tournament — upon this 
evening’s banquet. De Bigot,’ he added to his seneschal, ‘ thou 
wilt word this our second summons so courteously as to gratify 
the pride of these Saxons, and make it impossible for them 
again to refuse ; although, by the bones of Becket, courtesy to 
them is casting pearls before swine.’ 

Prince John had proceeded thus far, and was about to give 
the signal for retiring from the lists, when a small billet was 
put into his hand. 

^ From whence ? ’ said Prince John, looking at the person by 
whom it was delivered. 

^ From foreign parts, my lord, but from whence I know not,’ 
replied his attendant. ^ A Frenchman brought it hither, who 
said he had ridden night and day to put it into the hands of 
your Highness.’ 

The Prince looked narrowly at the superscription, and then 
at the seal, placed so as to secure the flox-silk with which the 
billet was surrounded, and which bore the impression of three 
fleurs-de-lis. John then opened the billet with apparent agita- 
tion, which visibly and greatly increased when he had perused 
the contents, which were expressed in these words — 

^ Take heed to yourself, for the Devil is unchained ! ’ 

The Prince turned as pale as death, looked first on the earth, 
and then up to heaven, like a man who has received news that 
sentence of execution has been passed upon him. Eecovering 
from the first effects of his surprise, he took Waldemar 
Fitzurse and De Bracy aside, and put the billet into their 
hands successively. ^ It means,’ he added, in a faltering voice, 
^that my brother Eichard has obtained his freedom.’ 


IVANHOE 


133 


‘ This may be a false alarm or a forged letter/ said De 
Bracy. 

^ It is France’s own hand and seal/ replied Prince John. 

‘ It is time, then,’ said Fitzurse, ^ to draw onr party to a 
head, either at York or some other centrical place. A few 
days later, and it will be indeed too late. Your Highness must 
break short this present mummery.’ 

^ The yeomen and commons,’ said De Bracy, ^ must not be 
dismissed discontented, for lack of their share in the sports.’ 

‘ The day/ said Waldemar, ‘ is not yet very far spent ; let the 
archers shoot a few rounds at the target, and the prize be ad- 
judged. This will be an abundant fulfilment of the Prince’s 
promises, so far as this herd of Saxon serfs is concerned.’ 

^ I thank thee, Waldemar/ said the Prince ; ^ thou remindest 
me, too, that I have a debt to pay to that insolent peasant 
who yesterday insulted our person. Our banquet also shall go 
forward to-night as we proposed. Were this my last hour of 
power, it should be an hour sacred to revenge and to pleasure ; 
let new cares come with to-morrow’s new day.’ 

The sound of the trumpets soon recalled those spectators 
who had already begun to leave The field; and proclamation 
was made that Prince John, suddenly called by high and 
peremptory public duties, held himself obliged to discontinue 
the entertainments of to-morrow’s festival ; nevertheless, that, 
unwilling so many good yeomen should depart without a trial 
of skill, he was pleased to appoint them, before leaving the 
ground, presently to execute the competition of archery in- 
tended for the morrow. To the best archer a prize was to be 
awarded, being a bugle-horn, mounted with silver, and a silken 
baldric richly ornamented with a medallion of St. Hubert, the 
patron of silvan sport. 

More than thirty yeomen at first presented themselves as 
competitors, several of whom were rangers and under-keepers 
in the royal forests of Heedwood and Charnwood. When, how- 
ever, the archers understood with whom they were to be 
matched, upwards of twenty withdrew themselves from the 
contest, unwilling to encounter the dishonour of almost certain 
defeat. For in those days the skill of each celebrated marks- 
man was as well known for many miles round him as the 
qualities of a horse trained at Newmarket are familiar to those 
who frequent that well-known meeting. 

The diminished list of competitors for silvan fame still 


134 


IVANHOE 


amounted to eight. Prince John stepped from his royal seat 
to view more nearly the persons of these chosen yeomen, 
several of whom wore the royal livery. Having satisfied his 
curiosity by this investigation, he looked for the object of his 
resentment, whom he observed standing on the same spot, and 
with the same composed countenance which he had exhibited 
upon the preceding day. 

^ Fellow,^ said Prince John, ^ I guessed by thy insolent 
babble thou wert no true lover of the long-bow, and I see thou 
darest not adventure thy skill among such merry men as stand 
yonder.^ 

^ Under favour, sir,’ replied the yeoman, ' I have another 
reason for refraining to shoot, besides the fearing discomfiture 
and disgrace.’ 

^ And what is thy other reason ? ’ said Prince J ohn, who, for 
some cause which perhaps he could not himself have explained, 
felt a painful curiosity respecting this individual. 

‘ Because,’ replied the woodsman, ^ I know not if these yeo- 
men and I are used to shoot at the same marks ; and because, 
moreover, I know not how your Grace might relish the win- 
ning of a third prize by one who has unwittingly fallen under 
your displeasure.’ 

Prince John coloured as he put the question, ^What is thy 
name, yeoman ? ’ 

‘ Locksley,’ answered the yeoman. 

^ Then, Locksley,’ said Prince J ohn, ^ thou shalt shoot in thy 
turn, when these yeomen have displayed their skill. If thou 
earnest the prize, I will add to it twenty nobles; but if thou 
losest it, thou shalt be stript of thy Lincoln green and scourged 
out of the lists with bowstrings, for a wordy and insolent 
braggart.’ 

^ And how if I refuse to shoot on such a wager ? ’ said the 
yeoman. ‘ Your Grace’s power, supported, as it is, by so many 
.jnen-at-arms, may indeed easily strip and scourge me, but can- 
not compel me to bend or to draw my bow.’ 

^ If thou refusest my fair proffer,’ said the Prince, ^ the pro- 
vost of the lists shall cut thy bowstring, break thy bow and 
arrows, and expel thee from the presence as a faint-hearted 
craven.’ 

^ This is no fair chance you put on me, proud Prince,’ said 
the yeoman, ^to compel me to peril myself against the best 
archers of Leicester and Staffordshire, under the penalty of 


IVANHOE 


135 


infamy if they should overshoot me. Nevertheless, I will obey 
your pleasure.’ 

^ Look to him close, men-at-arms,’ said Prince John, ‘ his 
heart is sinking; I am jealous lest he attempt to escape the 
trial. And do you, good fellows, shoot boldly round; a buck 
and a butt of wine are ready for your refreshment in yonder 
tent, when the prize is won.’ 

A target was placed at the upper end of the southern avenue 
which led to the lists. The contending archers took their 
station in turn, at the bottom of the southern access ; the dis- 
tance between that station and the mark allowing full distance 
for what was called a shot at rovers. The archers having pre- 
viously determined by lot their order of precedence, were to 
shoot each three shafts in succession. The sports were regu- 
lated by an officer of inferior rank, termed the provost of the 
games; for the high rank of the marshals of the lists would 
have been held degraded had they condescended to superintend 
the sports of the yeomanry. 

One by one the archers, stepping forward, delivered their 
shafts yeomanlike and bravely. Of twenty-four arrows shot 
in succession, ten were fixed in the target, and the others 
ranged so near it that, considering the distance of the mark, it 
was accounted good archery. Of the ten shafts which hit the 
target, two within the inner ring were shot by Hubert, a bor- 
ester in the service of Malvoisin, who was accordingly pro- 
nounced victorious. 

^ Now, Locksley,’ said Prince John to the bold yeoman, with 
a bitter smile, ^ wilt thou try conclusions with Hubert, or wilt 
thou yield up bow, baldric, and quiver to the provost of the 
sports ? ’ 

^ Sith it be no better,’ said Locksley, ^ I am content to try 
my fortune ; on condition that when I have shot two shafts at 
yonder mark of Hubert’s, he shall be bound to shoot one at 
that which I shall propose.’ 

^ That is but fair,’ answered Prince J ohn, ^ and it shall not 
be refused thee. If thou dost beat this braggart, Hubert, I 
will fill the bugle with silver pennies for thee.’ 

^A man can but do his best,’ answered Hubert; 'but my 
grandsire drew a good long bow at Hastings, and I trust not to 
dishonour his memory.’ 

The former target was now removed, and a fresh one of the 
same size placed in its room, Hubert, who, as victor in the 


136 


IVANHOE 


first trial of skill, had the right to shoot first, took his aim with 
great deliberation, long measuring the distance with his eye, 
while he held in his hand his bended bow, with the arrow 
placed on the string. At length he made a step forward, and 
raising the bow at the full stretch of his left arm, till the 
centre or grasping-place was nigh level with his face, he drew 
his bowstring to his ear. The arrow whistled through the air, 
and lighted within the inner ring of the target, but not exactly 
in the centre. 

^ You have not allowed for the wind, Hubert,^ said his 
antagonist, bending his bow, ^ or that had been a better 
shot.’ 

So saying, and without showing the least anxiety to pause 
upon his aim, Locksley stept to the appointed station, and shot 
his arrow as carelessly in appearance as if he had not even 
looked at the mark. He was speaking almost at the instant 
that the shaft left the bowstring, yet it alighted in the target 
two inches nearer to the white spot which marked the centre 
than that of Hubert. 

^ By the light of Heaven ! ’ said Prince John to Hubert, ^ an 
thou suffer that runagate knave to overcome thee, thou art 
worthy of the gallows ! ’ 

Hubert had but one set speech for all occasions. ' An your 
Highness were to hang me,’ he said, ‘ a man can but do his 
best. Nevertheless, my grandsire drew a good bow ’ 

^ The foul fiend on thy grandsire and all his generation ! ’ 
interrupted John. ‘ Shoot, knave, and shoot thy best, or it 
shall be the worse for thee ! ’ 

Thus exhorted, Hubert resumed his place, and not neglect- 
ing the caution which he had received from his adversary, he 
made the necessary allowance for a very light air of wind 
which had just arisen, and shot so successfully that his arrow 
alighted in the very centre of the target. 

‘ A Hubert ! a Hubert ! ’ shouted the populace, more in- 
terested in a known person than in a stranger. ^ In the clout ! 
—in the clout ! a Hubert for ever ! ’ 

^ Thou canst not mend that shot, Locksley,’ said the Prince, 
with an insulting smile. 

‘I will notch his shaft for him, however, replied Locks- 
ley.’ 

And letting fly his arrow with a little more precaution than 
before, it lighted right upon that of his competitor, which it 


IVANHOE 


137 


split to shivers. The people who stood around were so as- 
tonished at his wonderful dexterity that they could not even 
give vent to their surprise in their usual clamour. ^ This 
must be the devil, and no man of flesh and blood/ whispered 
the yeomen to each other ; ^ such archery was never seen since a 
bow was first bent in Britain.’ 

^ And now/ said Locksley, ^ I will crave your Grace’s per- 
mission to plant such a mark as is used in the North Country ; 
and welcome every brave yeoman who shall try a shot at it to 
win a smile from the bonny lass he loves best.’ 

He then turned to leave the lists. ‘ Let your guards attend 
me/ he said, ^if you please; I go but to cut a rod from the 
next willow-bush.’ 

Prince John made a signal that some attendants should 
follow him in case of his escape ; but the cry of ^ Shame ! 
shame ! ’ which burst from the multitude induced him to alter 
his ungenerous purpose. 

Locksley returned almost instantly with a willow wand 
about six feet in length, perfectly straight, and rather thicker 
than a man’s thumb. He began to peel this with great com- 
posure, observing at the same time that to ask a good woods- 
man to shoot at a target so broad as had hitherto been used was 
to put shame upon his skill. ^ For his own part/ he said, ^ and 
in the land where he was bred, men would as soon take for 
their mark King Arthur’s round table, which held sixty 
knights around it. A child of seven years old/ he said, ^ might 
hit yonder target with a headless shaft ; but/ added he, walk- 
ing deliberately to the other end of the lists, and sticking the 
willow wand upright in the ground, ‘ he that hits that rod at 
flvescore yards, I call him an archer fit to bear both bow and 
quiver before a king, an it were the stout King Eichard him- 
self.’ 

‘ My grandsire/ said Hubert, ^ drew a good bow at the bat- 
tle of Hastings, and never shot at such a mark in his life — and 
^either will I. If this yeoman can cleave that rod, I ^ve him 
the bucklers ; * or rather, I yield to the devil that is in his 
jerkin, and not to any human skill ; a man can but do his best, 
and I will not shoot where I am sure to miss. I might as well 
shoot at the edge of our parson’s whittle, or at a wheat straw, 
or at a sunbeam, as at a twinkling white streak which I can 
hardly see.’ 


[Compare p. 163.] 


138 


lYANHOE 


^ Cowardly dog ! ’ said Prince John. ‘ Sirrah Locksley, do 
thou shoot; hut if thou hittest such a mark, I will say thou 
art the first man ever did so. Howe’er it be, thou shalt not 
crow over us with a mere show of superior skill.’ 

^ I will do my best,’ as Hubert says,’ answered Locksley ; ^ no 
man can do more.’ 

So saying he again bent his bow, but on the present occasion 
looked with attention to his weapon, and changed the string, 
which he thought was no longer truly round, having been a 
little frayed by the two former shots. He then took his aim 
with some deliberation, and the multitude awaited the event 
in breathless silence. The archer vindicated their opinion of 
his skill: his arrow split the willow rod against which it was 
aimed. A jubilee of acclamations followed; and even Prince 
John, in admiration of Locksley’s skill, lost for an instant his 
dislike to his person. ^ These twenty nobles,’ he said, ^ which, 
with the bugle, thou hast fairly won, are thine own; we will 
make them fifty if thou wilt take livery and service with us as 
a yeoman of our body-guard, and be near to our person. For 
never did so strong a hand bend a bow or so true an eye direct 
a shaft.’ 

‘ Pardon me, noble Prince,’ said Locksley ; ‘ but I have 
vowed that, if ever I take service, it should be with your royal 
brother King Richard. These twenty nobles I leave to Hubert, 
who has this day drawn as brave a bow as his grandsire did at 
Hastings. Had his modesty not refused the trial, he would 
have hit the wand as well as I.’ 

Hubert shook his head as he received with reluctance the 
bounty of the stranger; and Locksley, anxious to escape fur- 
ther observation, mixed with the crowd, and was seen no 
more. 

The victorious archer would not perhaps have escaped 
John’s attention so easily, had not that Prince had other sub- 
jects of anxious and more important meditation pressing upon 
his mind at that instant. He called upon his chamberlain as 
he gave the signal for retiring from the lists, and commanded 
him instantly to gallop to Ashby and seek out Isaac the Jew. 
^Tell the dog,’ he said, ^to send me, before sundown, two 
thousand crowns. He knows the security; but thou mayst 
show him this ring for a token. The rest of the money must 
be paid at York within six days. If he neglects, I will have 
the unbelieving villain’s head. Look that thou pass him not 


IVANHOE 


139 


on the way ; for the circumcised slave was displaying his stolen 
finery amongst us/ 

So saying, the Prince resumed his horse, and returned to 
Ashby, the whole crowd breaking up and dispersing upon his 
retreat. 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

Why is the return of Ivanhoe to Buglaud disasTi^eeahle news to Prince 
John? 

Is it expected that Ivanhoe will live ? 

What does the Prince imply when he says ‘ our physician shall attend 
him’? 

Prom whom comes the letter handed to the Prince and what informa- 
tion does it contain ? 

What marriage does the Prince plan for De Bracy ? 

In the case of I/Ocksley, the alias of Robin Hood, Scott hardly intends 
a disguise ; for I^ocksley, a town in Nottinghamshire, is one of the re- 
puted birthplaces of this famous outlaw. 

Under what designation has Robin Hood previously appeared ? 

Why was the Prince incensed against him ? 

Who is Hubert, and what is his ‘ set speech for all occasions ’ ? 

Observe the admirable skill with which Scott depicts the archery con- 
test. 

Notice events are turning against the Normans and that disaster is 
impending over Prince John. 

Why does John wish a large sum of money just at this time ? 


CHAPTER XIV 


In rough magnificence array’d, 

When ancient chivalry display’d 
The pomp of her heroic games. 

And crested chiefs and tissued dames 
Assembled, at the clarion’s call. 

In some proud castle’s high arch’d hall. 

Warton. 

Prince John held his high festival in the Castle of Ashby. 
This was not the same building of which the stately ruins still 
interest the traveller, and which was erected at a later period 
by the Lord Hastings, High Chamberlain of England, one of 
the first victims of the tyranny of Richard the Third, and yet 
better known as one of Shakspeare’s characters than by his 
historical fame. The castle and town of Ashby, at this time, 
belonged to Roger de Quincy, Earl of Winchester, who, during 
the period of our history, was absent in the Holy Land. 
Prince John, in the meanwhile, occupied his castle, and dis- 
posed of his domains without scruple; and seeking at present 
to dazzle men’s eyes by his hospitality and magnificence, had 
given orders for great preparations, in order to render the 
banquet as splendid as possible. 

The purveyors of the Prince, who exercised on this and 
other occasions the full authority of royalty, had swept the 
country of all that could be collected which was esteemed fit 
for their master’s table. Guests also were invited in great 
numbers ; and in the necessity in which he then found himself 
of courting popularity. Prince John had extended his invita- 
tion to a few distinguished Saxon and Danish families, as well 
as to the Norman nobility and gentry of the neighbourhood. 
However despised and degraded on ordinary occasions, the 
great numbers of the Anglo-Saxons must necessarily render 
them formidable in the civil commotions which seemed ap- 
proaching, and it was an obvious point of policy to secure 
popularity with their leaders. 

It was accordingly the Prince’s intention, which he for some 
140 


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141 


time maintained, to treat these unwonted guests with a cour- 
tesy to which they had been little accustomed. But although 
no man with less scruple made his ordinary habits and feelings 
bend to his interest, it was the misfortune of this Prince that 
his levity and petulance were perpetually breaking out, and 
undoing all that had been gained by his previous dissimula- 
tion. 

Of this fickle temper he gave a memorable example in Ire- 
land, when sent thither by his father, Henry the Second, with 
the purpose of buying golden opinions of the inhabitants of 
that new and important acquisition to the English crown. 
Upon this occasion the Irish chieftains contended which 
should first offer to the young Prince their loyal homage and 
the kiss of peace. But, instead of receiving their salutations 
with courtesy, John and his petulant attendants could not 
resist the temptation of pulling the long beards of the Irish 
chieftains — a conduct which, as might have been expected, was 
highly resented by these insulted dignitaries, and produced 
fatal consequences to the English domination in Ireland. It 
is necessary to keep these inconsistencies of John’s character 
in view, that the reader may understand his conduct during 
the present evening. 

In execution of the resolution which he had formed during 
his cooler moments. Prince John received Cedric and Athel- 
stane with distinguished courtesy, and expressed his disap- 
pointment, without resentment, when the indisposition of 
Eowena was alleged by the former as a reason for her not at- 
tending upon his gracious summons. Cedric and Athelstane 
were both dressed in the ancient Saxon garb, which, although 
not unhandsome in itself, and in the present instance com- 
posed of costly materials, was so remote in shape and ap- 
pearance from that of the other guests that Prince John 
took great credit to himself with Waldemar Fitzurse for re- 
fraining from laughter at a sight which the fashion of the day 
rendered ridiculous. Yet, in the eye of sober judgment, the 
short close tunic and long mantle of the Saxons was a more 
graceful, as well as a more convenient, dress than the garb of 
the Normans, whose under-garment was a long doublet, so 
loose as to resemble a shirt or waggoner’s frock, covered by a 
cloak of scanty dimensions, neither fit to defend the wearer 
from cold or from rain, and the only purpose of which ap- 
peared to be to display as much fur, embroidery, and jewellery 


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work as the ingenuity of the tailor could contrive to lay upon 
it. The Emperor Charlemagne, in whose reign they were first 
introduced, seems to have been very sensible of the incon- 
veniences arising from the fashion of this garment. ‘ In 
Heaven’s name,’ said he, ^ to what purpose serve these abridged 
cloaks ? If we are in bed they are no cover, on horseback they 
are no protection from the wind and rain, and when seated 
they do not guard our legs from the damp or the frost.’ 

Nevertheless, spite of this imperial objurgation, the short 
cloaks continued in fashion down to the time of which we 
treat, and particularly among the princes of the house of 
Anjou. They were therefore in universal use among Prince 
John’s courtiers; and the long mantle, which formed the 
upper garment of the Saxons, was held in proportional de- 
rision. 

The guests were seated at a table which groaned under the 
quantity of good cheer. The numerous cooks who attended on 
the Prince’s progress, having exerted all their art in varying 
the forms in which the ordinary provisions were served up, 
had succeeded almost as well as the modern professors of the 
culinary art in rendering them perfectly unlike their natural 
appearance. Besides these dishes of domestic origin, there 
were various delicacies brought from foreign parts, and a 
quantity of rich pastry, as well as of the simnel bread and 
wastel cakes, which were only used at the tables of the highest 
nobility. The banquet was crowned with the richest wines, 
both foreign and domestic. 

But, though luxurious, the Norman nobles were not, gener- 
ally speaking, an intemperate race. While indulging them- 
selves in the pleasures of the table, they aimed at delicacy, 
but avoided excess, and were apt to attribute gluttony and 
drunkenness to the vanquished Saxons, as vices peculiar to 
their inferior station. Prince John, indeed, and those who 
courted his pleasure by imitating his foibles, were apt to 
indulge to excess in the pleasures of the trencher and the 
goblet; and indeed it is well known that his death was occa- 
sioned by a surfeit upon peaches and new ale. His conduct, 
however, was an exception to the general manners of his 
countrymen. 

With sly gravity, interrupted only by private signs to each 
other, the Norman knights and nobles beheld the ruder de- 
meanour of Athelstane and Cedric at a banquet to the form 


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143 


and fashion of which they were nnacciistomed. And while 
their manners were thus the subject of sarcastic observation, 
the untaught Saxons unwittingly transgressed several of the 
arbitrary rules established for the regulation of society. Now, 
it is w’ell known that a man may with more impunity be guilty 
of an actual breach either of real good breeding or of good 
morals, than appear ignorant of the most minute point of 
fashionable etiquette. Thus Cedric, who dried his hands with 
a towel, instead of suffering the moisture to exhale by waving 
them gracefully in the air, incurred more ridicule than his 
companion Athelstane, wdien he swallowed to his own single 
share the whole of a large pasty composed of the most exqui- 
site foreign delicacies, and termed at that time a ^ karum pie.’ 
When, however, it was discovered, by a serious cross-examina- 
tion, that the thane of Coningsburgh — or franklin, as the 
Normans termed him — had no idea what he had been devour- 
ing, and that he had taken the contents of the ^ karum pie ’ for 
larks and pigeons, whereas they were in fact beccaficoes and 
nightingales, his ignorance brought him in for an ample share 
of the ridicule which would have been more justly bestowed 
on his gluttony. 

The long feast had at length its end ; and, while the goblet 
circulated freely, men talked of the feats of the preceding 
tournament — of the unknown victor in the archery games, of 
the Black Knight, whose self-denial had induced him to with- 
draw from the honours he had won, and of the gallant Ivan- 
hoe, who had so dearly bought the honours of the day. The 
topics were treated with military frankness, and the jest and 
laugh went round the hall. The brow of Prince John alone 
was overclouded during these discussions; some overpowering 
care seemed agitating his mind, and it was only when he re- 
ceived occasional hints from his attendants that he seemed to 
take interest in what was passing around him. On such 
occasions he would start up, quaff a cup of wine as if to raise 
his spirits, and then mingle in the conversation by some ob- 
servation made abruptly or at random. 

‘ We drink this beaker,’ said he, ^ to the health of Wilfred 
of Ivanhoe, champion of this passage of arms, and grieve that 
his wound renders him absent from our board. Let all fill to 
the pledge, and especially Cedric of Eotherwood, the worthy 
father of a son so promising.’ 

^ No, my lord,’ replied Cedric, standing up, and placing on 


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the table his untasted cup, ^ I yield not the name of son to the 
disobedient youth who at once despises my commands and 
relinquishes the manners and customs of his fathers/ 

^ ’Tis impossible,^ cried Prince John, with well-feigned as- 
tonishment, ^ that so gallant a knight should be an unworthy 
or disobedient son ! ^ 

^ Yet, my lord,’ answered Cedric, ^ so it is with this Wilfred. 
He left my homely dwelling to mingle with the gay nobility 
of your brother’s court, where he learned to do those tricks of 
horsemanship which you prize so highly. He left it contrary 
to my wish and command; and in the days of Alfred that 
would have been termed disobedience — ay, and a crime 
severely punishable.’ 

^Alas!’ replied Prince John, with a deep sigh of affected 
sympathy, ^ since your son was a follower of my unhappy 
brother, it need not be inquired where or from whom he 
learned the lesson of filial disobedience.’ 

Thus spake Prince John, wilfully forgetting that, of all the 
sons of Henry the Second, though no one was free from the 
charge, he himself had been most distinguished for rebellion 
and ingratitude to his father. 

^ I think,’ said he, after a moment’s pause, ^ that my brother 
proposed to confer upon his favourite the rich manor of 
Ivanhoe.’ 

^ He did endow him with it,’ answered Cedric ; ^ nor is it my 
least quarrel with my son that he stooped to hold, as a feudal 
vassal, the very domains which his fathers possessed in free 
and independent right.’ 

^ We shall then have your willing sanction, good Cedric,’ 
said Prince John, Uo confer this fief upon a person whose 
dignity will not be diminished by holding land of the British 
crown. Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf,’ he said, turning to- 
wards that baron, ^ I trust you will so keep the goodly barony 
of Ivanhoe that Sir Wilfred shall not incur his father’s farther 
displeasure by again entering upon that fief.’ 

^ By St. Anthony ! ’ answered the black-browed giant, ‘ I will 
consent that your Highness shall hold me a Saxon, if either 
Cedric or Wilfred, or the best that ever bore English blood, 
shall wrench from me the gift with which your Highness has 
graced me.’ ^ 

^ Whoever shall call thee Saxon, Sir Baron,’ replied Cedric, 


IVANHOE 


145 


offended at a mode of expression by which the Normans fre- 
quently expressed their habitual contempt of the English, 
^ will do thee an honour as great as it is undeserved/ 

Front-de-Boeuf would have replied, but Prince John’s petu- 
lance and levity got the start. 

‘Assuredly,’ said he, ‘my lords, the noble Cedric speaks 
truth; and his race may claim precedence over us as much in 
the length of their pedigrees as in the longitude of their cloaks. 

‘ They go before us indeed in the field, as deer before dogs,’ 
said Malvoisin. 

‘ And with good right may they go before us ; forget not,’ 
said the Prior Aymer, ‘the superior decency and decorum of 
their manners.’ 

‘Their singular abstemiousness and temperance,’ said De 
Bracy, forgetting the plan which promised him a Saxon bride. 

‘ Together with the courage and conduct,’ said Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, ‘by which they distinguished themselves at 
Hastings and elsewhere.’ 

While, with smooth and smiling cheek, the courtiers, each 
in turn, followed their Prince’s example, and aimed a shaft of 
ridicule at Cedric, the face of the Saxon became infiamed with 
passion, and he glanced his eyes fiercely from one to another, 
as if the quick succession of so many injuries had prevented 
his replying to them in turn ; or, like a baited bull, who, sur- 
rounded by his tormentors, is at a loss to choose from among 
them the immediate object of his revenge. At length he spoke, 
in a voice half-choked with passion ; and, addressing himself to 
Prince John as the head and front of the offence which he had 
received, ‘ Whatever,’ he said, ‘ have been the follies and vices 
of our race, a Saxon would have been held nidering * (the 
most emphatic term for abject worthlessness) who should in 
his own hall, and while his own wine-cup passed, have treated, 
or suffered to be treated, an unoffending guest as your High- 
ness has this day beheld me used ; and whatever was the mis- 
fortune of our fathers on the field of Hastings, those may at 
least be silent (here he looked at Front-de-Boeuf and the 
Templar) who have within these few hours once and again 
lost saddle and stirrup before the lance of a Saxon.’ 

‘ By my faith, a biting jest ! ’ said Prince John. ‘ How like 
you it, sirs? Our Saxon subjects rise in spirit and courage, 
become shrewd in wit and bold in bearing, in these un- 
* See Note 7. 


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settled times. What say ye, my lords? By this good light, 
I hold it best to take our galleys and return to Normandy in 
time.’ 

' For fear of the Saxons? ’ said De Bracy, laughing. ' We 
should need no weapon but our hunting spears to bring these 
boars to bay.’ 

^ A truce with your raillery, Sir Knights,’ said Fitzurse ; 
^ and it were well,’ he added, addressing the Prince, ^ that your 
Highness should assure the worthy Cedric there is no insult 
intended him by jests which must sound but harshly in the 
ear of a stranger.’ 

^ Insult ! ’ answered Prince John, resuming his courtesy of 
demeanour ; ^ I trust it will not be thought that I could mean 
or permit any to be offered in my presence. Here ! I fill my 
cup to Cedric himself, since he refuses to pledge his son’s 
health.’ 

The cup went round amid the well-dissembled applause of 
the courtiers, which, however, failed to make the impression 
on the mind of the Saxon that had been designed. He was not 
naturally acute of perception, but those too much under- 
valued iiis understanding who deemed that this battering 
compliment would obliterate the sense of the prior insult. He 
was silent, however, when the royal pledge again passed round, 
^ To Sir Athelstane of Coningsburgh.’ 

The knight made his obeisance, and showed his sense of the 
honour by draining a huge goblet in answer to it. 

‘ And now, sirs,’ said Prince John, who began to be warmed 
with the wine which he had drank, ^ having done justice to 
our Saxon guests, we will pray of them some requital to our 
courtesy. Worthy thane,’ he continued, addressing Cedric, 
‘ may we pray you to name to us some Norman whose mention 
may least sully your mouth, and to wash down with a goblet 
of wine all bitterness which the sound may leave behind it ? ’ 

Fitzurse arose while Prince John spoke, and gliding behind 
the seat of the Saxon, whispered to him not to omit the oppor- 
tunity of putting an end to unkindness betwixt the two races 
by naming Prince John. The Saxon replied not to this politic 
insinuation, but, rising up, and filling his cup to the brim, he 
addressed Prince John in these words : ^ Your Ifighness has 
required that I should name a Norman deserving to be remem- 
bered at our banquet. This, perchance, is a hard task, since it 
calls on the slave to sing the praises of the master — upon the 


IVANHOE 


147 


vanquished, while pressed by all the evils of conquest, to sing 
the praises of the conqueror. Yet I will name a Norman — the 
first in arms and in place — the best and the noblest of his race 
And the lips that shall refuse to pledge me to his well-earned 
fame, I term false and dishonoured, and will so maintain them 
with my life. I quaff this goblet to the health of Kichard the 
Lion-hearted ! ’ 

Prince John, who had expected that his own name would 
have closed the Saxon’s speech, started when that of his in- 
jured brother was so unexpectedly introduced. He raised me- 
chanically the wine-cup to his lips, then instantly set it down, 
to view the demeanour of the company at this unexpected pro- 
posal, which many of them felt it as unsafe to oppose as to 
comply with. Some of them, ancient and experienced cour- 
tiers, closely omitted the example of the Prince himself, 
raising the goblet to their lips, and again replacing it before 
them. There were many who, with a more generous feeling, 
exclaimed, ' Long live King Eichard ! and may he be speedily 
restored to us ! ’ And some few, among whom were Front-de- 
Boeuf and the Templar, in sullen disdain suffered their goblets 
to stand untasted before them. But no man ventured directly 
to gainsay a pledge filled to the health of the reigning mon- 
arch. 

Having enjo3'ed his triumph for about a minute, Cedric said 
to his companion, ^ Up, noble Athelstane ! we have remained 
here long enough, since we have requited the hospitable 
courtesy of Prince John’s banquet. Those who wish to know 
further of our rude Saxon manners must henceforth seek us 
in the homes of our fathers, since we have seen enough of 
royal banquets and enough of Norman courtesy.’ 

So saying, he arose and left the banqueting-room, followed 
by Athelstane, and by several other guests, who, partaking of 
the Saxon lineage, held themselves insulted by the sarcasms of 
Prince John and his courtiers. 

^By the bones of St. Thomas,’ said Prince John, as they 
retreated, ^ the Saxon churls have borne off the best of the day, 
and have retreated with triumph ! ’ 

'' Conclamatum est, poculatum est/ said Prior Aymer : ^ we 
have drunk and we have shouted, it were time we left our wine 
fiagons.’ 

' The monk hath some fair penitent to shrive to-night, that 
he is in such a hurry to depart,’ said De Bracy. 


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^ Not so, Sir Knight/ replied the Abbot; "but I must move 
several miles forward this evening upon my homeward jour- 
ney.’ 

" They are breaking up/ said the Prince in a whisper to 
Fitzurse; "their fears anticipate the event, and this coward 
Prior is the first to shrink from me/ 

" Fear not, my lord,’ said Waldemar ; " I will show him such 
reasons as shall induce him to join us when we hold our meet- 
ing at York. Sir Prior/ he said, " I must speak with you in 
private before you mount your palfrey.’ 

The other guests were now fast dispersing, with the excep- 
tion of those immediately attached to Prince John’s faction 
and his retinue. 

" This, then, is the result of your advice/ said the Prince, 
turning an angry countenance upon Fitzurse ; " that I should 
be bearded at my own board by a drunken Saxon churl, and 
that, on the mere sound of my brother’s name, men should fall 
off from me as if I had the leprosy ? ’ 

" Have patience, sir,’ replied his counsellor ; " I might retort 
your accusation, and blame the inconsiderate levity which 
foiled my design, and misled your own better judgment. But 
this is no time for recrimination. De Bracy and I will in- 
stantly go among these shuffling cowards and convince them 
they have gone too far to recede.’ 

" It will be in vain/ said Prince J ohn, pacing the apartment 
with disordered steps, and expressing himself with an agita- 
tion to which the wine he had drank partly contributed — ^ it 
will be in vain ; they have seen the handwriting on the wall — 
they have marked the paw of the lion in the sand — they have 
heard his approaching roar shake the wood; nothing will 
reanimate their courage.’ 

"Would to God/ said Fitzurse to De Bracy, "that aught 
could reanimate his own ! His brother’s very name is an ague 
to him. Unhappy are the counsellors of a prince who wants 
fortitude and perseverance alike in good and in evil ! ’ 

V 

COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

What did Prince John hope from the banquet in the Castle of Ashby 7 
What, however, is the real outcome ? 

Point out the inconsistencies of the Prince’s character 7 
What does he mean by ‘ our meeting at York ’ 7 


IVANHOE 


149 


What part is played by Waldemar Pita^urse 7 

Has he appeared earlier in the romance 7 

Contrast the dress and manners of Saxon and Horman. 

Why had Cedric disinherited his son 7 

Is the reason given consistent with Cedric’s toast to the absent 
Richard 7 

Whence does Ivanhoe derive his title 7 

Observe that as in the tonrney, the Saxon wins also here. 

What seems to be the object of this chapter 7 

On this point notice that Scott is lining up the Normans on the side 
of the sinking fortunes of John and the Saxons on the side of Richard, 
who may appear at any moment to chastise his brother. 

Trace the stages in the insults that lead to Cedric’s explosion. 


CHAPTER XV 


And yet he thinks— ha, ha, ha, ha— he thinks 
I am the tool and servant of his will. 

Well, let it be ; through all the maze of trouble 
His plots and base oppression must create, 

I’ll shape myself a way to higher things, 

And who will say ’tis wrong ? 

Basil, a Tragedy. 

No spider ever took more pains to repair the shattered meshes 
of his web than did Waldemar Eitzurse to reunite and combine 
the scattered members of Prince John’s cabal. Few of these 
were attached to him from inclination, and none from personal 
regard.^ It was therefore necessary that Eitzurse should open 
to them new prospects of advantage, and remind them of those 
which they at present enjoyed. To the young and wild nobles 
he held out the prospect of unpunished license and uncon- 
trolled revelry, to the ambitious that of power, and to the 
covetous that of increased wealth and extended domains. The 
leaders of the mercenaries received a donation in gold — an 
argument the most persuasive to their minds, and without 
which all others would have proved in vain. Promises were 
still more liberally distributed than money by this active 
agent; and, in fine, nothing was left undone that could de- 
termine the wavering or animate the disheartened. The 
return of King Richard he spoke of as an event altogether 
beyond the reach of probability; yet, when he observed, from 
the doubtful looks and uncertain answers which he received, 
that this was the apprehension by which the minds of his ac- 
complices were most haunted, he boldly treated that event, 
should it really take place, as one which ought not to alter 
their political calculations. 

^ If Richard returns,’ said Fitzurse, ' he returns to enrich his 
needy and impoverished crusaders at the expense of those who 
did not follow him to the Holy Land. He returns to call to 
a fearful reckoning those who, during his absence, have done 
aught that can be construed offence or encroachment upon 

150 


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151 


either the laws of the land of the privileges of the crown. He 
returns to avenge upon the Orders of the Temple and the 
Hospital the preference which they showed to Philip of France 
during the wars in the Holy Land. He returns, in fine, to 
punish as a rebel every adherent of his brother Prince John. 
Are ye afraid of his power ? ’ continued the artful confidant of 
that Prince; ^we acknowledge him a strong and valiant 
knight; but these are not the days of King Arthur, when a 
champion could encounter an army. If Eichard indeed comes 
back, it must be alone, unfollowed, unfriended. The bones of 
his gallant army have whitened the sands of Palestine. The 
few of his followers who have returned have straggled hither 
like this Wilfred of Ivanhoe, beggared and broken men. And 
what talk ye of Eichard’s right of birth?’ he proceeded, in 
answer to those who objected scruples on that head. ‘Is 
Eichard’s title of primogeniture more decidedly certain than 
that of Duke Eobert of Kormandy, the Conqueror’s eldest son ? 
And yet William the Eed and Henry, his second and third 
brothers, were successively preferred to him b}?^ the voice of the 
nation. Eobert had every merit which can be pleaded for 
Eichard ; he was a bold knight, a good leader, generous to his 
friends and to the church, and, to crown the whole, a crusader 
and a conqueror of the Holy Sepulchre; and yet he died a 
blind and miserable prisoner in the Castle of Cardiff, because 
he opposed himself to the will of the people, who chose that 
he should not rule over them. It is our right,’ he said, ‘to 
choose from the blood royal the prince who is best qualified to 
hold the supreme power — that is,’ said he, correcting himself, 
‘ him whose election will best promote the interests of the 
nobility. In personal qualifications,’ he added, ‘ it was possi- 
ble that Prince John might be inferior to his brother Eichard ; 
but when it was considered that the latter returned with the 
sword of vengeance in his hand, while the former held out 
rewards, immunities, privileges, wealth, and honours, it could 
not be doubted which was the king whom in wisdom the 
nobility were called on to support.’ 

These, and many more arguments, some adapted to the 
peculiar circumstances of those whom he addressed, had the 
expected weight with the nobles of Prince John’s faction. 
Most of them consented to attend the proposed meeting at 
York, for the purpose of making general arrangements for 
placing the crown upon the head of Prince John. 


152 


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It was late at night when, worn out and exhausted with his 
various exertions, however gratified with the result, Fitzurse, 
returning to the Castle of Ashby, met with De Bracy, who had 
exchanged his banqueting garments for a short green kirtle, 
with hose of the same cloth and colour, a leathern cap or head- 
piece, a short sword, a horn slung over his shoulder, a long- 
bow in his hand, and a bundle of arrows stuck in his belt. 
Had Fitzurse met this figure in an outer apartment, he would 
have passed him without notice, as one of the yeomen of the 
guard; but finding him in the inner hall, he looked at him 
with more attention, and recognised the Norman knight in the 
dress of an English yeoman. 

^ What mummery is this, De Bracy ? ’ said Fitzurse, some- 
what angrily ; ^ is this a time for Christmas gambols and 
quaint maskings, when the fate of our master. Prince John, is 
on the very verge of decision ? Why hast thou not been, like 
me, among these heartless cravens whom the very name of 
King Eichard terrifies, as it is said to do the children of the 
Saracens ? ^ 

M have been attending to mine own business,^ answered De 
Bracy, calmly, ^ as you, Fitzurse, have been minding yours.’ 

^ I minding mine own business ! ’ echoed Waldemar ; ^ I have 
been engaged in that of Prince John, our joint patron.’ 

‘ As if thou hadst any other reason for that, Waldemar,’ said 
De Bracy, ‘ than the promotion of thine own individual inter- 
est! Come, Fitzurse, we know each other: ambition is thy 
pursuit, pleasure is mine, and they become our different ages. 
Of Prince John thou thinkest as I do — that he is too weak to 
be a determined monarch, too tyrannical to be an easy mon- 
arch, too insolent and presumptuous to be a popular monarch, 
and too fickle and timid to be long a monarch of any kind. 
But he is a monarch by whom Fitzurse and De Bracy hope to 
rise and thrive; and therefore you aid him with your policy, 
and I with the lances of my Free Companions.’ 

^A hopeful auxiliary,’ said Fitzurse, impatiently, Splaying 
the fool in the very moment of utter necessity. What on earth 
dost thou purpose by this absurd disguise at a moment so 
urgent ? ’ 

‘ To get me a wife,’ answered De Bracy, coolly, ^ after the 
manner of the tribe of Benjamin.’ 

^ The tribe of Benjamin ! ’ said Fitzurse. ^ I comprehend 
thee not.’ 


IVANHOE 


153 


^ Wert thou not in presence yestereven/ said De Bracy, 
‘ when we heard the Prior Aymer tell us a tale in reply to the 
romance which was sung by the minstrel ? He told how, long 
since in Palestine, a deadly feud arose between the tribe of 
Benjamin and the rest of the Israelitish nation; and how they 
cut to pieces wellnigh all the chivalry of that tribe ; and how 
they swore by our blessed Lady that they would not permit 
those who remained to marry in their lineage; and how they 
became grieved for their vow, and sent to consult his holiness 
the Pope how they might be absolved from it ; and how, by the 
advice of the Holy Father, the youth of the tribe of Benjamin 
carried off from a superb tournament all the ladies who were 
there present, and thus won them wives without the consent 
either of their brides or their brides’ families.’ 

^ I have heard the story,’ said Fitzurse, ^ though either the 
Prior or thou hast made some singular alterations in date and 
circumstances.’ 

‘ I tell thee,’ said De Bracy, ^ that I mean to purvey me a 
wife after the fashion of the tribe of Benjamin; which is as 
much as to say, that in this same equipment I will fall upon 
that herd of Saxon bullocks who have this night left the castle, 
and carry off from them the lovely Eowena.’ 

^ Art thou mad, De Bracy ? ’ said Fitzurse. ^ Bethink thee 
that, though the men be Saxons, they are rich and powerful, 
and regarded with the more respect by their countrymen that 
wealth and honour are but the lot of few of Saxon descent.’ 

‘ And should belong to none,’ said De Bracy ; ‘ the work 
of the Conquest should be completed.’ 

^This is no time for it at least,’ said Fitzurse; ‘the ap- 
proaching crisis renders the favour of the multitude indis- 
pensable, and Prince John cannot refuse justice to any one 
who injures their favourites.’ 

‘ Let him grant it if he dare,’ said De Bracy ; ‘ he will soon 
see the difference betwixt the support of such a lusty lot of 
spears as mine and that ^f a heartless mob of Saxon churls. 
Yet I mean no immediate discovery of myself. Seem I not in 
this garb as bold a forester as ever blew horn ? The blame of 
the violence shall rest with the outlaws of the Yorkshire for- 
ests. I have sure spies on the Saxons’ motions. To-night they 
sleep in the convent of St. Wittol, or Withold, or whatever 
they call that churl of a Saxon saint, at Burton-on-Trent. 
Next day’s march brings them within our reach, and, falcon- 


154 


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ways, we swoop on them at once. Presently after I wnll appear 
in mine own shape, play the courteous knight, rescue the un- 
fortunate and afficted fair one from the hands of the rude 
ravishers, conduct her to Front-de-Bceufs castle, or to Nor- 
mandy, if it should be necessary, and produce her not again to 
her kindred until she be the bride and dame of Maurice de 
Bracy.^ 

‘ A marvellously sage plan,^ said Fitzurse, ^ and, as I think, 
not entirely of thine own device. Come, be frank, De Bracy, 
who aided thee in the invention? and who is to assist in the 
execution? for, as I think, thine own band lies as far off as 
York.’ 

‘ Marry, if thou must needs know,’ said De Bracy, ^ it was 
the Templar Brian de Bois-Guilbert that shaped out the enter- 
prise, which the adventure of the men of Benjamin suggested 
to me. He is to aid me in the onslaught, and he and his 
followers will personate the outlaws, from whom my valorous 
arm is, after changing my garb, to rescue the lady.’ 

‘By my halidome,’ said Fitzurse, ‘the plan was worthy of 
your united wisdom ! and thy prudence, De Bracy, is most 
especially manifested in the project of leaving the lady in the 
hands of thy worthy confederate. Thou mayst, I think, suc- 
ceed in taking her from her Saxon friends, but how thou wilt 
rescue her afterwards from the clutches of Bois-Guilbert seems 
considerably more doubtful. He is a falcon well accustomed 
to pounce on a partridge and to hold his prey fast.’ 

‘He is a Templar,’ said De Bracy, ‘and cannot therefore 
rival me in my plan of wedding this heiress ; and to attempt 
aught dishonourable against the intended bride of De 

Bracy By Heaven ! were he a whole chapter of his order 

in his single person, he dared not do me such an injury ! ’ 

‘ Then, since nought that I can say,’ said Fitzurse, ‘ will put 
this folly from thy imagination, for well I know the obstinacy 
of thy disposition, at least waste as little time as possible ; let 
not thy folly be lasting as well as uiitimely.’ 

‘ I tell thee,’ answered De Bracy, ‘ that it will be the work 
of a few hours, and I shall be at York at the head of my 
daring and valorous fellows, as ready to support any bold 
design as thy policy can be to form one.’ But I hear my 
comrades assembling, and the steeds stamping and neighing 
in the outer court. Farewell. I go, like a true knight, to win 
the smiles of beauty.’ 


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155 


‘ Like a true knight ! ’ repeated Fitzurse, looking after him ; 
^ like a fool, I should say, or like a child, who will leave the 
most serious and needful occupation to chase the down of the 
thistle that drives past him. But it is with such tools that I 
must work — and for whose advantage? For that of a Prince 
as unwise as he is profligate, and as likely to be an ungrateful 
master as he has already proved a rebellious son and an 
unnatural brother. But he — he too is but one of the tools 
with which I labour; and, proud as he is, should he presume 
to separate his interest from mine, this is a secret which he 
shall soon learn.^ 

The meditations of the statesman were here interrupted by 
the voice of the Prince from an interior apartment calling out, 
^ Noble Waldemar Fitzurse ! ’ and, with bonnet doffed, the 
future Chancellor, for to such high preferment did the wily 
Norman aspire, hastened to receive the orders of the future 
sovereign. 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

A new Interest is now awakened in the reader. 

Outline the ‘ marvellously sage plan ’ concocted by De Bracy and Bois- 
Guilbert. 

What part is played here by Waldemar Pitajurse ? What kind of man 
is he ? Notice his soliloquy, a dramatic device rather uncommon now- 
adays in the novel.- 

What incidental burlesque of preposterous romance in the Prior’s 
tale? 

This chapter prepares the reader for chapters XVIII and XIX. 


CHAPTEE XVI 


Far in a wild, unknown to public view, 

From youth to age a reverend hermit grew ; 

The moss his bed, the cave his humble cell. 

His food the fruits, his drink the crystal well ; 

Remote from man, with God he pass’d his days, 

Prayer all his business, all his pleasure praise. 

Parnell. 

The reader cannot have forgotten that the event of the tour- 
nament was decided by the exertions of an unknown knight, 
whom, on account of the passive and indifferent conduct which 
he had manifested on the former part of the day, the spectators 
had entitled Le Noir Faineant. This knight had left the field 
abruptly when the victory was achieved; and when he was 
called upon to receive the reward of his valour he was nowhere 
to be found. In the meantime, while summoned by heralds 
and by trumpets, the knignt was holding his course northward, 
avoiding all frequented paths, and taking th^ shortest road 
through the wod&lands. He paused for the night at a small 
hostelry lying out of the ordinary route, where, however, he 
obtained from a wandering minstrel news of the event of the 
tourney. 

On the next morning the knight departed early, with the 
intention of making a long journey ; the condition of his horse, 
which he had carefully spared during the preceding morning, 
being such as enabled him to travel far without the necessity 
of much repose. Yet his purpose was baffled by the devious 
paths through which he rode, so ij^t when evening closed 
upon him he only found himself oiWne frontiers of the West 
Riding of Yorkshire. By this time both horse and man re- 
quired refreshment, and it became necessary, moreover, to look 
out for some place in which they might spend the night, 
which was now fast approaching. 

The place where the traveller found himself seemed unpro- 
pitious for obtaining either shelter or refreshment, and he was 
likely to be reduced to the usual expedient of knights errant, 

156 


IVANHOE 


157 


who, on such occasions, turned their horses to graze, and laid 
themselves down to meditate on their lady-mistress, with an 
oak-tree for a canopy. But the Black Knight either had no 
mistress to meditate upon, or, being as indifferent in love as he 
seemed to be in war, was not sufficiently occupied by passion- 
ate reflections upon her beauty and cruelty to be able to parry 
the effects of fatigue and hunger, and suffer love to act as a 
substitute for the solid comforts of a bed and supper. He felt 
dissatisfied, therefore, when, looking around, he found himself 
deeply involved in woods, through which indeed there were 
many open glades and some paths, but such as seemed only 
formed by the numerous herds of cattle which grazed in the 
forest, or by the animals of chase, and the hunters who made 
prey of them. 

The sun, by which the knight had chiefly directed his course, 
had now sunk behind the Derbyshire hills on his left, and 
every effort which he might make to pursue his journey was as 
likely to lead him out of his road as to advance him on his 
route. After having in vain endeavoured to select the most 
beaten path, in hopes it might lead to the cottage of some 
herdsman or the silvan lodge of a forester, and having re- 
peatedly found himself totally unable to determine on a choice, 
the knight resolved to trust to the sagacity of his horse, ex- 
perience having on former occasions made him acquainted 
with the wonderful talent possessed by these animals for ex- 
tricating themselves and their riders on such emergencies. 

The good steed, grievously fatigued with so long a day’s 
journey under a rider cased in mail, had no sooner found, by 
the slackened reins, that he was abandoned to his own guid- 
ance, than he seemed to assume new strength and spirit; and 
whereas formerly he had scarce replied to the spur otherwise 
than by a groan, he now, as if proud of the confidence reposed 
in him, pricked up his ears, and assumed, of his own accord, a 
more lively motion. The path which the animal adopted 
rather turned off from the course pursued by the knight dur- 
ing the day; but as the horse seemed confident in his choice, 
the rider abandoned himself to his discretion. 

He was justified by the event, for the footpath soon after 
appeared a little wider and more worn, and the tinkle of a 
small bell gave the knight to understand that he was in the 
vicinity of some chapel or hermitage. 

Accordingly, he soon reached an open plat of turf, on the 


158 


IVANHOE 


opposite side of which a rock, rising abruptly from a gently 
sloping plain, offered its grey and weather-beaten front to the 
traveller. Ivy mantled its sides in some places, and in others 
oaks and holly bushes, whose roots found nourishment in the 
cliffs of the crag, waved over the precipices below, like the 
plumage of the warrior over his steel helmet, giving grace to 
that whose chief expression was terror. At the bottom of the 
rock, and leaning, as it were, against it, was constructed a rude 
hut, built chiefly of the trunks of trees felled in the neighbour- 
ing forest, and secured against the weather by having its 
crevices stuffed with moss mingled with clay. The stem of a 
young fir-tree lopped of its branches, with a piece of wood tied 
across near the top, was planted upright by the door, as a rude 
emblem of the holy cross. At a little distance on the right 
hand, a fountain of the purest waiter trickled out of the rock, 
and was received in a hollow stone, which labour had formed 
into a rustic basin. Escaping from thence, the stream mur- 
mured down the descent by a channel which its course had 
long worn, and so wandered through the little plain to lose 
itself in the neighbouring wood. 

Beside this fountain were the ruins of a very small chapel, 
of which the roof had partly fallen in. The building, wdien 
entire, had never been above sixteen feet long by twelve feet in 
breadth, and the roof, low in proportion, rested upon four con- 
centric arches which sprung from the four corners of the 
building, each supported upon a short and heavy pillar. The 
ribs of two of these arches remained, though the roof had 
fallen down betwixt them ; over the others it remained entire. 
The entrance to this ancient place of devotion was under a 
very low round arch, ornamented by several courses of that 
zig-zag moulding, resembling sharks’ teeth, which appears so 
often in the more ancient Saxon architecture. A belfry rose 
above the porch on four small pillars, within which hung the 
green and weather-beaten bell, the feeble sounds of wlrich had 
been some time before heard by the Black Knight. 

The whole peaceful and quiet scene lay glimmering in twi- 
light before the eyes of the traveller, giving him good assur- 
ance of lodging for the night; since it was a special duty of 
those hermits who dwelt in the woods to exercise hospitality 
towards benighted or bewildered passengers. 

Accordingly, the knight took no time to consider minutely 
the particulars which we have detailed, but thanking St. 


IVANHOE 


159 


Julian, the patron of travellers, who had sent him good har- 
bourage he leaped from his horse and assailed the door of the 
hermitage with the butt of his lance, in order to arouse atten- 
tion and gain admittance. 

It was some time before he obtained any answer, and the 
reply, when made, was unpropitious. 

^ Pass on, whosoever thou art,’ was the answer given by a 
deep hoarse voice from within the hut, ^ and disturb not the 
servant of God and St. Dunstan in his evening devotions.’ 

^ Worthy father,’ answered the knight, ^ here is a poor 
wanderer bewildered in these woods, who gives thee the oppor- 
tunity of exercising thy charity and hospitality.’ 

^ Good brother,’ replied the inhabitant of the hermitage, ^ it 
has pleased Our Lady and St. Dunstan to destine me for the 
object of those virtues, instead of the exercise thereof. I have 
no provisions here which even a dog would share with me, and 
a horse of any tenderness of nurture would despise my couch ; 
pass therefore on thy way, and God speed thee.’ 

^ But how,’ replied the knight, ‘ is it possible for me to find 
my way through such a wood as this, when darkness is coming 
on? I pray you, reverend father, as you are a Christian, to 
undo your door, and at least point out to me my road.’ 

‘ And I pray you, good Christian brother,’ replied the ancho- 
rite, ‘to disturb me no more. You have already interrupted 
one pater, two aves, and a credo, which I, miserable sinner 
that I am, should, according to my vow, have said before 
moonrise.’ 

‘ The road — the road ! ’ vociferated the knight ; ‘ give me 
directions for the road, if I am to expect no more from thee.’ 

‘ The road,’ replied the hermit, ‘ is easy to hit. The path 
from the wood leads to a morass, and from thence to a ford, 
which, as the rains have abated, may now be passable. When 
thou hast crossed the ford, thou wilt take care of thy footing 
up the left bank, as it is somewhat precipitous, and the path, 
which hangs over the river, has lately, as I learn — for I seldom 
leave the duties of my chapel — given way in sundry places. 
Thou wilt then keep straight forward ’ 

‘ A broken path — a precipice — a ford — and a morass ! ’ said 
the knight, interrupting him. ‘ Sir Hermit, if you were the 
holiest that ever wore beard or told bead, you shall scarce 
prevail on me to hold this road to-night. I tell thee, that 
thou, who livest by the charity of the country — ill deserved. 


160 


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as I doubt it is — hast no right to refuse shelter to the way- 
farer when in distress. Either open the door quickly, or, by 
the rood, I will beat it down and make entry for myself.’ 

^ Friend wayfarer,’ replied the hermit, ^ be not importunate ; 
if thou puttest me to use the carnal weapon in mine own 
defence, it will be e’en the worse for you.’ 

At this moment a distant noise of barking and growling, 
which the traveller had for some time heard, became extremely 
loud and furious, and made the knight suppose that the her- 
mit, alarmed by his threat of making forcible entry, had called 
the dogs, who made this clamour to aid him in his defence, out 
of some inner recess in which they had been kennelled. In- 
censed at this preparation on the hermit’s part for making 
good his inhospitable purpose, the knight struck the door so 
furiously with his foot that posts as well as staples shook with 
violence. 

The anchorite, not caring again to expose his door to a 
similar shock, now called out aloud, ‘ Patience — patience ; 
spare thy strength, good traveller, and I will presently undo 
the door, though, it may be, my doing so will be little to thy 
pleasure.’ 

The door accordingly was opened; and the hermit, a large, 
strong-built man, in his sackcloth gown and hood, girt with 
a rope of rushes, stood before the knight. He had in one hand 
a lighted torch, or link, and in the other a baton of crab-tree, 
so thick and heavy that it might well be termed a club. Two 
large shaggy dogs, half greyhound, half mastiff, stood ready to 
rush upon the traveller as soon as the door should be opened. 
But when the torch glanced upon the lofty crest and golden 
spurs of the knight who stood without, the hermit, altering 
probably his original intentions, repressed the rage of his 
auxiliaries, and, changing his tone to a sort of churlish cour- 
tesy, invited the knight to enter his hut, making excuse for his 
unwillingness to open his lodge after sunset, by alleging the 
multitude of robbers and outlaws who were abroad, and who 
gave no honour to Our Lady or St. Dunstan, nor to those holy 
men who spent life in their service. 

^The poverty of your cell, good father,’ said the knight, 
looking around him, and seeing nothing but a bed of leaves, a 
crucifix rudely carved in oak, a missal, with a rough-hewn 
table and two stools, and one or two clumsy articles of furni- 
ture — ' the poverty of your cell should seem a sufficient defence 


IVANHOE 


161 


against any risk of thieves, not to mention the aid of two 
trusty dogs, large and strong enough, I think, to pull down a 
stag, and, of course, to match with most men/ 

^The good keeper of the forest,^ said the hermit, ^hath 
allowed me the use of these animals to protect my solitude 
until the times shall mend/ 

Having said this, he fixed his torch in a twisted branch of 
iron which served for a candlestick; and placing the oaken 
trivet before the embers of the fire, which he refreshed with 
some dry wood, he placed a stool upon one side of the table, 
and beckoned to the knight to do the same upon the other. 

They sat down, and gazed with great gravity at each other, 
each thinking in his heart that he had seldom seen a stronger 
or more athletic figure than was placed opposite to him. 

‘ Reverend hermit,’ said the knight, after looking long and 
fixedly at his host, ^were it not to interrupt your devout 
meditations, I would pray to know three things of your 
holiness; first, where I am to put my horse? secondly, what 
I can have for supper? thirdly, where I am to take up my 
couch for the night ? ’ 

‘ I will reply to you,’ said the hermit, ^ with my finger, it 
being against my rule to speak by words where signs can 
answer the purpose.’ So saying, he pointed successively to 
two corners of the hut. ‘ Your stable,’ said he, ^ is there ; your 
bed there ; and,’ reaching down a platter with two handfuls of 
parched pease upon it from the neighbouring shelf, and plac- 
ing it upon the table, he added, ^ your supper is here.’ 

The knight shrugged his shoulders, and leaving the hut, 
brought in his horse, which in the interim he had fastened to 
a tree, unsaddled him with much attention, and spread upon 
the steed’s weary back his own mantle. 

The hermit was apparently somewhat moved to compassion 
by the anxiety as well as address which the stranger displayed 
in tending his horse; for, muttering something about prov- 
ender left for the keeper’s palfrey, he dragged out of a 
recess a bundle of forage, which he spread before the knight’s 
charger, and immediately afterwards shook down a quantity of 
dried fern in the corner which he had assigned for the rider’s 
couch. The knight returned him thanks for his courtesy ; and, 
this duty done, both resumed their seats by the table, whereon 
stood the trencher of pease placed between them. The hermit, 
after a long grace, which had once been Latin, but of which 


163 


IVANHOE 


original language few traces remained, excepting here and 
there the long rolling termination of some word or phrase, set 
example to his guest by modestly putting into a very large 
mouth, furnished with teeth which might have ranked with 
those of a boar both in sharpness and whiteness, some three or 
four dried pease, a miserable grist, as it seemed, for so large 
and able a mill. 

The knight, in order to follow so laudable an example, laid 
aside his helmet, his corslet, and the greater part of his 
armour, and showed to the hermit a head thick-curled with 
yellow hair, high features, blue eyes, remarkably bright and 
sparkling, a mouth well formed, having an upper lip clothed 
with mustachoes darker than his hair, and bearing altogether 
the look of a bold, daring, and enterprising man, with which 
his strong form well corresponded. 

The hermit, as if wishing to answer to the confidence of his 
guest, threw back his cowl, and showed a round bullet head 
belonging to a man in the prime of life. His close-shaven 
crown, surrounded by a circle of stiff curled black hair, had 
something the appearance of a parish pinfold begirt by its high 
hedge. The features expressed nothing of monastic austerity 
or of ascetic privations; on the contrary, it was a bold bluff 
countenance, with broad black eyebrows, a w^ell-turned fore- 
head, and cheeks as round and vermilion as those of a trum- 
peter, from which descended a long and curly black beard. 
Such a visage, joined to the brawny form of the holy man, 
spoke rather of sirloins and haunches than of pease and pulse. 
This incongruity did not escape the guest. After he had with 
great difficulty accomplished the mastication of a mouthful of 
the dried pease, he found it absolutely necessary to request his 
pious entertainer to furnish him with some liquor; who re- 
plied to his request by placing before him a large can of the 
purest water from the fountain. 

^It is from the well of St. Dunstan,’ said he, ^in which, 
betwixt sun and sun, he baptized five hundred heathen Danes 
and Britons — blessed be his name ! ’ And applying his black 
beard to the pitcher, he took a draught much more moderate 
in quantity than his encomium seemed to warrant. 

‘ It seems to me, reverend father,’ said the knight, ^ that 
the small morsels which you eat, together with this holy but 
somewhat thin beverage, have thriven with you marvellously. 
You appear a man more fit to win the ram at a wrestling- 


IVANHOE 


163 


match, or the ring at a bout at quarter-staff, or the bucklers at 
a sword-play, than to linger out your time in this desolate 
wilderness, saying masses, and living upon parched pease and 
cold water/ 

^ Sir Knight,’ answered the hermit, ^ your thoughts, like 
those of the ignorant laity, are according to the flesh. It has 
pleased Our Lady and my patron saint to bless the pittance 
to which I restrain myself, e^^n as the pulse and water was 
blessed to the children Shadrach, Meshech, and Abednego, 
who drank the same rather than defile themselves with the 
wine and meats which were appointed them by the King of the 
Saracens.’ 

^ Holy father,’ said the knight, ^ upon whose countenance it 
hath pleased Heaven to work such a miracle, permit a sinful 
layman to crave thy name ? ’ 

^ Thou mayst call me,’ answered the hermit, ^ the Clerk of 
Copmanhurst, for so I am termed in these parts. They add, it 
is true, the epithet holy, but I stand not upon that, as being 
unworthy of such addition. And now, valiant knight, may I 
pray ye for the name of my honourable guest ? ’ 

‘Truly,’ said the knight, ‘Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst, 
men call me in these parts the Black Knight ; many, sir, add 
to it the epithet of Sluggard, whereby I am no way ambitious 
to be distinguished.’ 

The hermit could scarcely forbear from smiling at his 
guest’s reply. 

‘ I see,’ said he, ‘ Sir Sluggish Knight, that thou art a man 
of prudence and of counsel ; and, moreover, I see that my poor 
monastic fare likes thee not, accustomed, perhaps, as thou hast 
been to the license of courts and of camps, and the luxuries 
of cities ; and now I bethink me. Sir Sluggard, that when the 
charitable keeper of this forest-walk left these dogs for my 
protection, and also those bundles of forage, he left me also 
some food, which, being unfit for my use, the very recollection 
of it had escaped me amid my more weighty meditations.’ 

‘I dare be sworn he did so,’ said the knight; ‘I was con- 
vinced that there was better food in the cell, Holy Clerk, since 
you first doffed your cowl. Your keeper is ever a jovial fel- 
low ; and none who beheld thy grinders contending with these 
pease, and thy throat flooded with this ungenial element, could 
see thee doomed to such horse-provender and horse-beverage 
(pointing to the provisions upon the table), and refrain from 


164 


IVANHOE 


mending thy cheer. Let us see the keeper’s bounty, there- 
fore, without delay.’ 

The hermit cast a wistful look upon the knight, in which 
there was a sort of comic expression of hesitation, as if uncer- 
tain how far he should act prudently in trusting his guest. 
There was, however, as much of bold frankness in the knight’s 
countenance as was possible to be expressed by features. His 
smile, too, had something in it irresistibly comic, and gave an 
assurance of faith and loyalty, with which his host could not 
refrain from sympathising. 

After exchanging a mute glance or two, the hermit went to 
the further side of the hut, and opened a hutch, which was 
concealed with great care and some ingenuity. Out of the 
recesses of a dark closet, into which this aperture gave admit- 
tance, he brought a large pasty, baked in a pewter platter of 
unusual dimensions. This mighty dish he placed before his 
guest, who, using his poniard to cut it open, lost no time in 
making himself acquainted with its contents. 

^ How long is it since the good keeper has been here ? ’ said 
the knight to his host, after having swallowed several hasty 
morsels of this reinforcement to the hermit’s good cheer. 

^ About two months,’ answered the father, hastily. 

^By the true Lord,’ answered the knight, ^everything in 
your hermitage is miraculous. Holy Clerk ! for I would have 
been sworn that the fat buck which furnished this venison 
had been running on foot within the week.’ 

The hermit was somewhat discountenanced by this observa- 
tion; and, moreover, he made but a poor figure while gazing 
on the diminution of the pasty, on which his guest was making 
desperate inroads — a warfare in which his previous profession 
of abstinence left him no pretext for joining. 

have been in Palestine, Sir Clerk,’ said the knight, 
stopping short of a sudden, ‘ and I bethink me it is a custom 
there that every host who entertains a guest shall assure him 
of the wholesomeness of his food by partaking of it along with 
him. Far be it from me to suspect so holy a man of aught 
inhospitable ; nevertheless, I will be highly bound to you would 
you comply with this Eastern custom.’ 

^ To ease your unnecessary scruples. Sir Knight, T will for 
once depart from my rule,’ replied the hermit. And as there 
were no forks in those days, his clutches were instantly in the 
bowels of the pasty. 


IVANHOE 


165 


The ice of ceremony being once broken, it seemed matter of 
rivalry between the guest and the entertainer which should 
display the best appetite ; and although the former had prob- 
ably fasted longest, yet the hermit fairly surpassed him. 

‘ Holy Clerk, ^ said the knight, when his hunger was ap- 
peased, ^ I would gage my good horse yonder against a zecchin, 
that that same honest keeper to whom we are obliged for the 
venison has left thee a stoup of wine, or a runlet of canary, 
or some such trifle, by way of ally to this noble pasty. This 
would be a circumstance, doubtless, totally unworthy to dwell 
in the memory of so rigid an anchorite ; yet, I think, were you 
to search yonder crypt once more, you would find that I am 
right in my conjecture.’ 

The hermit only replied by a grin; and returning to the 
hutch, he produced a leathern bottle, which might contain 
about four quarts. He also brought forth two large drink- 
ing cups, made out of the horn of the urus, and hooped with 
silver. Having made this goodly provision for washing down 
the supper, he seemed to think no farther ceremonious scruple 
necessary on his part; but filling both cups, and saying, in 
the Saxon fashion, " Waes hael. Sir Sluggish Knight ! ’ he 
emptied his own at a draught. 

^ Drinc Tiael, Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst ! ’ answered the 
warrior, and did his host reason in a similar brimmer. 

^ Holy Clerk,’ said the stranger, after the first cup was thus 
swallowed, ^ I cannot but marvel that a man possessed of such 
thews and sinews as thine, and who therewithal shows the 
talent of so goodly a trencherman, should think of abiding by 
himself in t&s wilderness. In my judgment, you are fitter to 
keep a castle or a fort, eating of the fat and drinking of the 
strong, than to live here upon pulse and water, or even upon 
the charity of the keeper. At least, were I as thou, I should 
find myself both disport and plenty out of the king’s deer. 
There is many a goodly herd in these forests, and a buck 
will never be missed that goes to the use of St. Dunstan’s 
chaplain.’ 

^ Sir Sluggish Knight,’ replied the Clerk, ^ these are danger- 
ous words, and I pray you to forbear them. I am true hermit 
to the king and law, and were I to spoil my liege’s game, I 
should be sure of the prison, and, an my gown saved me not, 
were in some peril of hanging.’ 

^ Nevertheless, were I as thou,’ said the knight, ^ I would 


166 


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take my walk by moonlight, when foresters and keepers were 
warm in bed, and ever and anon — as I pattered my prayers 
— I would let fly a shaft among the herds of dun deer that 
feed in the glades. Eesolve me, Holy Clerk, hast thou never 
practised such a pastime?’ 

. ^ Friend Sluggard,’ answered the hermit, ^ thou hast seen all 
that can concern thee of my housekeeping, and something 
more than he deserves who takes up his quarters by violence. 
Credit me, it is better to enjoy the good which God sends thee, 
than to be impertinently curious how it comes. Fill thy cup, 
and welcome; and do not, I pray thee, by further impertinent 
inquiries, put me to show that thou couldst hardly have made 
good thy lodging had I been earnest to oppose thee.’ 

‘ By my faith,’ said the knight, ' thou makest me more curi- 
ous than ever ! Thou art the most mysterious hermit I ever 
met ; and I will know more of thee ere we part. As for thy 
threats, know, holy man, thou speakest to one whose trade it 
is to And out danger wherever it is to be met with.’ 

"Sir Sluggish Knight, I drink to thee,’ said the hermit, 

" respecting thy valour much, but deeming wondrous slightly 
of thy discretion. If thou wilt take equal arms with me, I will 
give thee, in all friendship and brotherly love, such sufficing 
penance and complete absolution that thou shalt not for the 
next twelve months sin the sin of excess of curiosity.’ 

The knight pledged him, and desired him to name his 
weapons. 

" There is none,’ replied the hermit, " from the scissors of 
Dalilah and the tenpenny nail of Jael to the scimitar of Go- 
liath, at which I am not a match for thee. But, if I am to 
make the election, what sayst thou, good friend, to these 
trinkets ? ’ 

Thus speaking, he opened another hutch, and took out from 
it a couple of broadswords and bucklers, such as were used by 
the yeomanry of the period. The knight, who watched his 
motions, observed that this second place of concealment was 
furnished with two or three good long-bows, a cross-bow, a 
bundle of bolts for the latter, and half a dozen sheaves of ar- 
rows for the former. A harp, and other matters of a very un- 
canonical appearance, were also visible when this dark recess 
was opened. 

" I promise thee, brother Clerk,’ said he, " I will ask thee no 
more offensive questions. The contents of that cupboard are 


IVANHOE 


167 


an answer to all my inquiries ; and I see a weapon there (here 
he stooped and took out the harp) on which I would more 
gladly prove my skill with thee than at the sword and buckler/ 
^ I hope, Sir Knight,’ said the hermit, ‘ thou hast given no 
good reason for thy surname of the Sluggard. I do promise 
thee, I suspect thee grievously. Nevertheless, thou art my 
guest, and I will not put thy manhood to the proof without 
thine own free will. Sit thee down, then, and fill thy cup ; let 
us drink, sing, and he merry. If thou knowest ever a good lay, 
thou shalt be welcome to a nook of pasty at Copmanhurst so 
long as I serve the chapel of St. Dunstan, which, please God, 
shall be till I change my grey covering for one of green turf. 
But come, fill a flagon, for it will crave some time to tune the 
harp ; and nought pitches the voice and sharpens the ear like 
a cup of wine. For my part, I love to feel the grape at my 
very finger-ends before they make the harp-strings tinkle.’ * 

* See The Jolly Hermit. Note 8. 


CHAPTEE XVII 


At eve, within yon studious nook, 

I ope my brass-embossed book. 

Portray’d with many a holy deed 
Of martyrs crown’d with heavenly meed ; 

Then, as my taper waxes dim, 

Chant, ere I sleep, my measured hymn. 

Who but would cast his pomp away. 

To take my staff and amice grey. 

And to the world’s tumultuous stage. 

Prefer the peaceful Hermitage ? 

Warton. 

Notwithstanding the prescription of the genial hermit, with 
which his guest willingly complied, he found it no easy matter 
to bring the harp to harmony. 

‘ Methinks, holy father,’ said he, ^ the instrument wants one 
string, and the rest have been somewhat misused.’ 

^Ay, mark’st thou that?’ replied the hermit; ^that shows 
thee a master of the craft. Wine and wassail,’ he added, 
gravely casting up his eyes — ^ all the fault of wine and was- 
sail! I told Allan-a-Dale, the northern minstrel, that he 
would damage the harp if he touched it after the seventh cup, 
but he would not be controlled. Friend, I drink to thy suc- 
cessful performance.’ 

So saying, he took olf his cup with much gravity, at the 
same time shaking his head at the intemperance of the Scot- 
tish harper. 

The knight, in the meantime, had brought the strings into 
some order, and, after a short prelude, asked his host whether 
he would choose a sirvente in the language of oc, or a lai in the 
language of oui, or a virelai, or a ballad in the vulgar Eng- 
lish.* 

^ A ballad — a ballad,’ said the hermit, ‘ against all the ocs 
and ouis of France. Downright English am I, Sir Knight, 
and downright English was my patron St. Dunstan, and 
scorned oc and oui, as he would have scorned the parings of the 

* See Minstrelsy. Note 9. 

168 


IVANHOE 


169 


devil’s hoof; downright English alone shall be sung in this 
cell.’ 

^ I will assay, then,’ said the knight, ‘ a ballad composed by 
a Saxon gleeman, whom I knew in Holy Land.’ 

It speedily appeared that, if the knight was not a complete 
master of the minstrel art, his taste for it had at least been 
cultivated under the best instructors. Art had taught him to 
soften the faults of a voice which had little compass, and was 
naturally rough rather than mellow, and, in short, had done 
all that culture can do in supplying natural deficiencies. His 
performance, therefore, might have been termed very respec- 
table by abler judges than the hermit, especially as the knight 
threw into the notes now a degree of spirit, and now of 
plaintive enthusiasm, which gave force and energy to the 
verses which he sung. 


High deeds achieved of knightly fame, 

From Palestine the champion came ; 

The cross upon his shoulders borne 
Battle and blast had dimm’d and torn. 

Each dint upon his batter’d shield 
Was token of a foughten field ; 

And thus, beneath his lady’s bower, 

He sung, as fell the twilight hour 

‘ Joy to the fair !— thy knight behold, • 
Return’d from yonder land of gold. 

No wealth he brings, nor wealth can need 
Save his good arms and battle-steed. 

His spurs, to dash against a foe. 

His lance and sword to lay him low ; 

Such all the trophies of his toil. 

Such— and the hope of Tekla’s smile ! 

‘ Joy to the fair ! whose constant knight 
Her favour fired to feats of might ; 

Unnoted shall she not remain. 

Where meet the bright and noble train ; 
Minstrel shall sing and herald tell— 

“ Mark yonder maid of beauty well, 

’Tis she for whose bright eyes was won 
The listed field at Askalon ! 

‘ “ Note well her smile ! it edged the blade 
Which fifty wives to widows made, 

When, vain his strength and Mahound’s spell, 
Iconium’s turban’d soldan fell. 

Seest thou her locks, whose sunny glow 
Half shows, half shades, her neck of snow ? 


170 


IVANHOE 


Twines not of them one golden thread, 

But for its sake a Paynim bled.” 

‘ Joy to the fair !— my name unknown, 

Each deed and all its praise thine own ; 

Then, oh ! unbar this churlish gate. 

The night dew falls, the hour is late. 

Inured to Syria’s glowing breath, 

I feel the north breeze chill as death ; 

Let grateful love quell maiden shame. 

And grant him bliss who brings thee fame.’ 

During this performance, the hermit demeaned himself 
much like a first-rate critic of the present day at a new opera. 
He reclined back upon his seat with his eyes half shut : now 
folding his hands and twisting his thumbs, he seemed ab- 
sorbed in attention, and anon, balancing his expanded palms, 
he gently fiourished them in time to the music. At one or two 
favourite cadences he threw in a little assistance of his own, 
where the knight’s voice seemed unable to carry the air so 
high as his worshipful taste approved. When the song was 
ended, the anchorite emphatically declared it a good one, and 
well sung. 

^And yet,’ said he, think my Saxon countrymen had 
herded long enough with the Normans to fall into the tone of 
their melancholy ditties. What took the honest knight from 
home ? or what could he expect but to find his mistress agree- 
ably engaged with a rival on his return, and his serenade, as 
they call it, as little regarded as the caterwauling of a cat in 
the gutter? Nevertheless, Sir Knight, I drink this cup to 
thee, to the success of all true lovers. I fear you are none,’ he 
added, on observing that the knight, whose brain began to be 
heated with these repeated draughts, qualified his flagon from 
the water pitcher. 

^ Why,’ said the knight, ^ did you not tell me that this water 
was from the well of your blessed patron, St. Dunstan ? ’ 

^Ay, truly,’ said the hermit, ^ and many a hundred of 
pagans did he baptize there, but I never heard that he drank 
any of it. Everything should be put to its proper use in this 
world. St. Dunstan knew, as well as any one, the prerogatives 
of a Jovial friar.’ 

And so saying, he reached the harp, and entertained his 
guest with the following characteristic song, to a sort of derry- 
down chorus,* appropriate to an old English ditty : — 

* See Note 10. 


IVANHOE 171 


I’ll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain. 

To search Europe through, from Byzantium to Spain ; 
But ne’er shall you find, should you search till you tire, 
So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar. 


Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career. 

And is brought home at evensong prick’d through with a spear ; 
I confess him in haste— for his lady desires 
No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar’s. 

Your monarch ! Pshaw ! many a prince has been known 
To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown ; 

But which of us e’er felt the idle desire 
To exchange for a crown the grey hood of a Friar I 

The Friar has walk’d out, and where’er he has gone, 

The land and its fatness is mark’d for his own ; 

He can roam where he lists, he can stop when he tires. 

For every man’s house is the Barefooted Friar’s. 


He’s expected at noon, and no wight till he comes 
May profane the great chair, or the porridge of plums ; 
For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the fire, 

Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar. 


He’s expected at night, and the pasty’s made hot. 

They broach the brown ale, and they fill the black pot. 

And the goodwife would wish the goodman in the mire. 

Ere he lack’d a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar. 

Long fiourish the sandal, the cord, and the cope. 

The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope ; 

For to gather life’s roses, unscathed by the briar. 

Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar. 

^By my troth/ said the knight, ^thou hast sung well and 
lustily, and in high praise of thine order. And, talking of the 
devil. Holy Clerk, are you not afraid that he may pay you a 
visit during some of your uncanonical pastimes ? ^ 

^ I uncanonical ! ^ answered the hermit ; ^ I scorn the charge 
— I scorn it with my heels ! I serve the duty of my chapel 
duly and truly. Two masses daily, morning and evening, 

primes, noons, and vespers, aves, credos, paters '' 

^ Excepting moonlight nights, when the venison is in sea- 
son/ said his guest. 

Exceptis excipiendis/ replied the hermit, ^ as our old abbot 
taught me to say, when impertinent laymen should ask me if 
I kept every punctilio of mine order.’ 

^ True, holy father,’ said the knight ; ^ but the devil is apt 


172 


IVANHOE 


to keep an eye on such exceptions ; he goes about, thou know- 
est, like a roaring lion/ 

" Let him roar here if he dares,’ said the Friar; " a touch of 
my cord will make him roar as loud as the tongs of St. Dun- 
stan himself did. I never feared man, and I as little fear the 
devil and his imps. St. Dunstan, St. Dubric, St. Winibald, 
St. Winifred, St. Swibert, St. Willick, not forgetting St. 
Thomas a Kent and my own poor merits to speed, — I defy 
every devil of them, come cut and long tail. But to let you 
into a secret, I never speak upon such subjects, my friend, 
until after morning vespers.’ 

He changed the conversation: fast and furious grew the 
mirth of the parties, and many a song was exchanged betwixt 
them, when their revels were interrupted by a loud knocking 
at the door of the hermitage. 

The occasion of this interruption we can only explain by 
resuming the adventures of another set of our characters ; for, 
like old Aristo, we do not pique ourselves upon continuing 
uniformly to keep company with any one personage of our 
drama. 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

This and the preceding: chapter depict one continuous scene— a comic 
interlude in which the story halts to the delig:ht of the reader. The 
way in which the Black Knight induces the Clerk of Copmauhurst to 
throw ofif his pretences is one of the most admirable scenes in Scott. 
It will be observed that Scott, like Chaucer, is fond of depicting the 
worldly aspect of his ecclesiastics. 

Compare the Prior of Jorvaulx Abbey with Chaucer’s Clerk in the 
Prologue to the ‘ Knight’s Tale.’ 

Notice that after exciting our curiosity as to who the Clerk may be, 
Scott tells us in a note. 

Would you prefer to have the disguise kept up still longer ? 

Describe the hermitage. 

Is the Clerk on the side of Saxon or of Norman ? 

Who, may we infer, is ‘ the good keeper of the forest * ? 

Notice that Scott now further awakens our curiosity concerning the 
Black Knight. He lets us see him with the armour off and permits him 
to say that he has been in Palestine, and gives us some insight into his 
tastes and his knowledge of men. 

Do you think the songs appropriate at this point ? 

What incident breaks off the revels ? 


CHAPTER XVIII 


Away ! our journey lies through dell and dingle, 

Where the blithe fawn trips by its timid mother, 

Where the broad oak, with intercepting boughs. 

Chequers the sunbeam in the greensward alley— 

Up and away! for lovely paths are these 
To tread, when the glad Sun is on his throne ; 

Less pleasant, and less safe, when Cynthia’s lamp 
With doubtful glimmer lights the dreary forest. 

Ettrick Forest. 

When Cedric the Saxon saw his son drop down senseless in 
the lists at Ashby, his first impulse was to order him into the 
custody and care of his own attendants ; but the words choked 
in his throat. He could not bring himself to acknowledge, in 
presence of such an assembly, the son whom he had renounced 
and disinherited. He ordered, however, Oswald to keep an 
eye upon him ; and directed that officer, with two of his serfs, 
to convey Ivanhoe to Ashby as soon as the crowd had dis- 
persed. Oswald, however, was anticipated in this good office. 
The crowd dispersed, indeed, but the knight was nowhere to 
be seen. 

It was in vain that Cedric’s cupbearer looked around for his 
young master : he saw the bloody spot on which he had lately 
sunk down, but himself he saw no longer; it seemed as if the 
fairies had conveyed him from the spot. Perhaps Oswald — 
for the Saxons were very superstitious — might have adopted 
some such hypothesis to account for Ivanhoe’s disappearance, 
had he not suddenly cast his eye upon a person attired like a 
squire, in whom he recognised the features of his fellow- 
servant Gurth. Anxious concerning his master’s fate, and in 
despair at his sudden disappearance, the translated swineherd 
was searching for him everywhere, and had neglected, in 
doing so, the concealment on which his own safety depended. 
Oswald deemed it his duty to secure Gurth, as a fugitive of 
whose fate his master was to judge. 

Renewing his inquiries concerning the fate of Ivanhoe, the 
only information which the cupbearer could collect from the 
bystanders was, that the knight had been raised with care by 

173 


174 


IVANHOE 


certain well-attired grooms, and placed in a litter belonging 
to a lady among the spectators, which had immediately trans- 
ported him out of the press. Oswald, on receiving this intel- 
ligence, resolved to return to his master for farther instruc- 
tions, carrying along with him Gurth, whom he considered 
in some sort as a deserter from the service of Cedric. 

The Saxon had been under very intense and agonising 
apprehensions concerning his son, for nature had asserted her 
rights, in spite of the patriotic stoicism which laboured to 
disown her. But no sooner was he informed that Ivanhoe was 
in careful, and probably in friendly, hands than the paternal 
anxiet}^ which had been excited by the dubiety of his fate, 
gave way anew to the feeling of injured pride and resentment 
at what he termed Wilfred’s filial disobedience. ^Let him 
wander his way,’ said he ; ‘ let , those leech his wounds for 
whose sake he encountered them. He is fitter to do the jug- 
gling tricks of the Norman chivalry than to maintain the fame 
and honour of his English ancestry with the glaive and 
brown-bill, the good old weapons of his country.’ 

‘ If to maintain the honour of ancestry,’ said Eowena, who 
was present, ‘ it is sufficient to be wise in council and brave in 
execution, to be boldest among the bold, and gentlest among 
the gentle, I know no voice, save his father’s ’ 

' Be silent. Lady Rowena ! on this subject only I hear you 
not. Prepare yourself for the Prince’s festival : we have been 
summoned thither with unwonted circumstance of honour and 
of courtesy, such as the haughty Normans have rarely used to 
our race since the fatal day of Hastings. Thither will I go, 
were it only to show these proud Normans how little the fate 
of a son who could defeat their bravest can affect a Saxon.’ 

^ Thither,’ said Rowena, ^ do I not go ; and I pray you to 
beware, lest what you mean for courage and constancy shall be 
accounted hardness of heart.’ 

‘ Remain at home then, ungrateful lady,’ answered Cedric ; 
^ thine is the hard heart, which can sacrifice the weal of an 
oppressed people to an idle and unauthorised attachment. I 
seek the noble Athelstane, and with him attend the banquet of 
John of Anjou.’ 

He went accordingly to the banquet, of which we have al- 
ready mentioned the principal events. Immediately upon 
retiring from the castle, the Saxon thanes, with their attend- 
ants, took horse ; and it was during the bustle which attended 


IVANHOE 


175 


their doing so that Cedric for the first time cast his eyes upon 
the deserter Gurth. The noble Saxon had returned from the 
banquet, as we have seen, in no very placid humour, and 
wanted but a pretext for wreaking his anger upon some one. 
" The gyves ! ^ he said — ^ the gyves ! Oswald — Hundebert ! 
Dogs and villains ! why leave ye the knave unfettered ? " 

Without daring to remonstrate, the companions of Gurth 
bound him with a halter, as the readiest cord which occurred. 
He submitted to the operation without remonstrance, except 
that, darting a reproachful look at his master, he said, ‘ This 
comes of loving your flesh and blood better than mine own.^ 

^ To horse, and forward ! ’ said Cedric. 

‘ It is indeed full time,’ said the noble Athelstane ; ^ for, 
if we ride not the faster, the worthy Abbot Waltheofi’s prepa- 
rations for a rere-supper * will be altogether spoiled.’ 

The travellers, however, used such speed as to reach the 
convent of St. Withold’s before the apprehended evil took 
place. The Abbot, himself of ancient Saxon descent, received 
the noble Saxons with the profuse and exuberant hospitality 
of their nation, wherein they indulged to a late, or rather an 
early, hour ; nor did they take leave of their reverend host the 
next morning until they had shared with him a sumptuous 
refection. 

As the cavalcade left the court of the monastery, an incident 
happened somewhat alarming to the Saxons, who, of all peo- 
ple of Europe, were most addicted to a superstitious observ- 
ance of omens, and to whose opinions can be traced most of 
those notions upon such subjects still to be found among our 
popular antiquities. For the Normans being a mixed race, 
and better informed according to the information of the times, 
had lost most of the superstitious prejudices which their an- 
cestors had brought from Scandinavia, and piqued themselves 
upon thinking freely on such topics. 

In the present instance, the apprehension of impending evil 
was inspired by no less respectable a prophet than a large lean 
black dog, which, sitting upright, howled most piteously as the 
foremost riders left the gate, and presently afterwards, bark- 
ing wildly, and jumping to and fro, seemed bent upon at- 
taching itself to the party. 

* A rere-supper was a night-meal, and sometimes signified a collation 
which was given at a late hour, after the regular supper had made its 
appearance. — L. T. 


176 


lYANHOE 


^ I like not that music, father Cedric/ said Athelstane ; for 
by this title of respect he was accustomed to address him. 

^ Nor I either, uncle/ said Wamba; ^ I greatly fear we shall 
have to pay the piper.’ 

‘In my mind/ said Athelstane, upon whose memory the 
Abbot’s good ale — for Burton was already famous for that 
genial liquor — had made a favourable impression — ‘ in my 
mind we had better turn back and abide with the Abbot until 
the afternoon. It is unlucky to travel where your path is 
crossed by a monk, a hare, or a howling dog, until you have 
eaten your next meal.’ 

‘ Away ! ’ said Cedric, impatiently ; ‘ the day is already too 
short for our journey. For the dog, I know it to be the cur 
of the runaway slave Gurth, a useless fugitive like its master.’ 

So saying, and rising at the s,ame time in his stirrups, 
impatient at the interruption of his journey, he launched his 
javelin at poor Fangs; for Fangs it was, who, having traced 
his master thus far upon his stolen expedition, had here lost 
him, and was now, in his uncouth way, rejoicing at his reap- 
pearance. The javelin inflicted a wound upon the animal’s 
shoulder, and narrowly missed pinning him to the earth ; and 
Fangs fled howling from the presence of the enraged thane. 
Gurth’s heart swelled within him; for he felt this meditated 
slaughter of his faithful adherent in a degree much deeper 
than the harsh treatment he- had himself received. Having in 
vain attempted to raise his hand to his eyes, he said to Wamba, 
who, seeing his master’s ill-humour, had prudently retreated 
to the rear, ‘ I pray thee, do me the kindness to wipe my eyes 
with the skirt of thy mantle ; the dust offends me, and these 
bonds will not let me help myself one way or another.’ 

Wamba did him the service he required, and they rode side 
by side for some time, during which Gurth maintained a 
moody silence. At length he could repress his feelings no 
longer. 

‘ Friend Wamba/ said he, ‘ of all those who are fools enough 
to serve Cedric, thou alone hast dexterity enough to make thy 
folly acceptable to him. Go to him, therefore, and tell him 
that neither for love nor fear will Gurth serve him longer. 
He may strike the head from me, he may scourge me, he may 
load me with irons, but henceforth he shall never compel me 
either to love or to obey him. Go to him, then, and tell him 
that Gurth the son of Beowulph renounces his service.’ 


IVANHOE 


177 


^ Assuredly/ said Wamba, ' fool as I am, I shall not do your 
fooFs errand. Cedric hath another Javelin stuck into his 
girdle, and thou knowest he does not always miss his mark.’ 

^ I care not,’ replied Gurth, ^ how soon he makes a mark of 
me. Yesterday he left Wilfred, my young master, in his 
blood. To-day he has striven to kill before my face the only 
other living creature that ever showed me kindness. By St. 
Edmund, St. Dunstan, St. Withold, St. Edward the Confessor, 
and every other Saxon saint in the calendar (for Cedric never 
swore by any that was not of Saxon lineage, and all his house- 
hold had the same limited devotion), I will never forgive 
him!’ 

‘ To my thinking now,’ said the Jester, who was frequently 
wont to act as peacemaker in the family, ‘ our master did not 
propose to hurt Fangs, but only to affright him. For, if you 
observed, he rose in his stirrups, as thereby meaning to over- 
cast the mark ; and so he would have done, but Fangs happen- 
ing to bound up at the very moment, received a scratch, which 
I will be bound to heal with a penny’s breadth of tar.’ 

^ If I thought so,’ said Gurth — ^ if I could but think so ; but 
no, I saw the Javelin was well aimed; I heard it whizz through 
the air with all the wrathful malevolence of him who cast it, 
and it quivered after it had pitched in the ground, as if with 
regret for having missed its mark. By the hog dear to St. 
Anthony, I renounce him ! ’ 

And the indignant swineherd resumed his sullen silence, 
which no efforts of the Jester could again induce him to break. 

Meanwhile Cedric and Athelstane, the leaders of the troop, 
conversed together on the state of the land, on the dissensions 
of the royal family, on the feuds and quarrels among the 
Norman nobles, and on the chance which there was that the 
oppressed Saxons might be able to free themselves from the 
yoke of the Normans, or at least to elevate themselves from the 
national consequence and independence, during the civil con- 
vulsions which were likely to ensue. On this subject Cedric 
was all animation. The restoration of the independence of his 
race was the idol of his heart, to which he had willingly 
sacrificed domestic happiness and the interests of his own son. 
But, in order to achieve this great revolution in favour of the 
native English, it was necessary that they should be united 
among themselves, and act under an acknowledged head. The 
necessity of choosing their chief from the Saxon blood-royal 


178 


IVANHOE 


was not only evident in itself, but had been made a solemn 
condition by those whom Cedric had entrusted with his secret 
plans and hopes. Athelstane had this quality at least; and 
though he had few mental accomplishments or talents to 
recommend him as a leader, he had still a goodly person, was 
no coward, had been accustomed to martial exercises, and 
seemed willing to defer to the advice of counsellors more wise 
than himself. Above all, he was known to be liberal and 
hospitable, and believed to be good-natured. But whatever 
pretensions Athelstane had to be considered as head of the 
Saxon confederacy, many of that nation were disposed to pre- 
fer to his the title of the Lady Rowena, who drew her descent 
from Alfred, and whose father having been a chief renowned 
for wisdom, courage, and generosity, his memory was highly 
honoured by his oppressed countrymen. 

It would have been no difficult thing for Cedric, had he 
been so disposed, to have placed himself at the head of a third 
party, as formidable at least as any of the others. To coun- 
terbalance their royal descent, he had courage, activity, 
energy, and, above all, that devoted attachment to the cause 
which had procured him the epithet of The Saxon, and his 
birth was inferior to none, excepting only that of Athelstane 
and his ward. These qualities, however, were unalloyed by 
the slightest shade of selfishness ; and, instead of dividing yet 
further his weakened nation by forming a faction of his own, 
it was a leading part of Cedric’s plan to extinguish that which 
already existed by promoting a marriage betwixt Rowena and 
Athelstane. An obstacle occurred to this his favourite project 
in the mutual attachment of his ward and his son ; and hence 
the original cause of the banishment of Wilfred from the 
house of his father. 

This stern measure Cedric had adopted in hopes that, dur- 
ing Wilfred’s absence, Rowena might relinquish her prefer- 
ence ; but in this hope he was disappointed — a disappointment 
which might be attributed in part to the mode in which his 
ward had been educated. Cedric, to whom the name of Alfred 
was as that of a deity, had treated the sole remaining scion of 
that great monarch with a degree of observance such as, per- 
haps, was in those days scarce paid to an acknowledged 
princess. Rowena’s will had been in almost all cases a law to 
his household ; and Cedric himself, as if determined that her 
sovereignty should be fully acknowledged within that little 


IVANHOE 


179 


circle at least, seemed to take a pride in acting as the first of 
her subjects. Thus trained in the exercise not only of free will 
but despotic authority, Eowena was, by her previous educa- 
tion, disposed both to resist and to resent any attempt to con- 
trol her affections, or dispose of her hand contrary to her 
inclinations, and to assert her independence in a case in which 
even those females who have been trained up to obedience and 
subjection are not infrequently apt to dispute the authority of 
guardians and parents. The opinions which she felt strongly 
she avowed boldly; and Cedric, who could not free himself 
from his habitual deference to her opinions, felt totally at a 
loss how to enforce his authority of guardian. 

It was in vain that he attempted to dazzle her with the 
prospect of a visionary throne. Eowena, who possessed strong 
sense, neither considered his plan as practicable nor as desir- 
able, so far as she was concerned, could it have been achieved. 
Without attempting to conceal her avowed preference of Wil- 
fred of Ivanhoe, she declared that, were that favoured knight 
out of question, she would rather take refuge in a convent than 
share a throne with Athelstane, whom, having always despised, 
she now began, on account of the trouble she received on his 
account, thoroughly to detest. 

Nevertheless, Cedric, whose opinion of women’s constancy 
was far from strong, persisted in using every means in his 
power to bring about the proposed match, in which he con- 
ceived he was rendering an important service to the Saxon 
cause. The sudden and romantic appearance of his son in the 
lists at Ashby he had justly regarded as almost a death’s blow 
to his hopes. His paternal affection, it is true, had for an 
instant gained the victory over pride and patriotism ; but both 
had returned in full force, and under their joint operation he 
was now bent upon making a determined effort for the union 
of Athelstane and Eowena, together with expediting those 
other measures which seemed necessary to forward the restora- 
tion of Saxon independence. 

On this last subject he was now labouring with Athelstane, 
not without having reason, every now and then, to lament, 
like Hotspur, that he should have moved such a dish of 
skimmed milk to so honourable an action. Athelstane, it is 
true, was vain enough, and loved to have his ears tickled with 
tales of his high descent, and of his right by inheritance to 
homage and sovereignty. But his petty vanity was sufficiently 


180 


IVANHOE 


gratified by receiving this homage at the hands of his immedi- 
ate attendants and the Saxons who approached him. If he 
had the courage to encounter danger, he at least hated the 
trouble of going to seek it ; and while he agreed in the general 
principles laid down by Cedric concerning the claim of the 
Saxons to independence, and was still more easily convinced 
of his own title to reign over them when that independence 
should be attained, yet when the means of asserting these 
rights came to be discussed, he was still Athelstane the Un- 
ready — slow, irresolute, procrastinating, and unenterprising. 
The warm and impassioned exhortations of Cedric had as 
little effect upon his impassive temper as red-hot balls alight- 
ing in the water, which produce a little sound and smoke, and 
are instantly extinguished. 

If, leaving this task, which might be compared to spurring 
a tired jade, or to hammering upon cold iron, Cedric fell back 
to his ward Eowena, he received little more satisfaction from 
conferring with her. For, as his presence interrupted the dis- 
course between the lady and her favourite attendant upon the 
gallantry and fate of Wilfred, Elgitha failed not to revenge 
both her mistress and herself by recurring to the overthrow 
of Athelstane in the lists, the most disagreeable subject which 
could greet the ears of Cedric. To this sturdy Saxon, there- 
fore, the day’s journey was fraught with all manner of dis- 
pleasure and discomfort ; so that he more than once internally 
cursed the tournament, and him who had proclaimed it, to- 
gether with his own folly in ever thinking of going thither. 

At noon, upon the motion of Athelstane, the travellers 
paused in a woodland shade by a fountain, to repose their 
horses and partake of some provisions, with which the hospita- 
ble Abbot had loaded a sumpter mule. Their repast was a 
pretty long one; and these several interruptions rendered it 
impossible for them to hope to reach Eotherwood without 
travelling all night, a conviction which induced them 
to proceed on their way at a more hasty pace than they had 
hitherto used. 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

Taking up the thread of the story dropped at the end of chapter XIV, 
Scott gives an account of the first stages in Cedric’s journey homeward 
from the banquet at Ashby. 


IVANHOE 


181 


How does Gurth come into Cedric’s company ? 

What bit of superstition is introduced ? 

Where do the travellers pass the night ? 

Where do they stop the next day for the noon meal ? 

Observe that Scott mildly arouses our curiosity as to who * the lady 
among the spectators ’ may be. The interest in this chapter is, how- 
ever, not so much narrative as expository. 

Why did Rowena refuse to go to the banquet at Ashby ?— Do you think 
this explanation should have been given in chapter XIV ? 

What far-reaching political scheme had Cedric formed ? 

In what way have events been turning against his plans ? 

What object has Scott in weakening here our sympathy with Cedric? 

Is Scott clumsy or skilful in analys^ing the motives of Cedric ? 


CHAPTER XIX 


A train of armed men, some noble dame 
Escorting (so their scatter’d words discover’d, 

As unperceived I hung upon their rear), 

Are close at hand, and mean to pass the night 
Within the castle. 

Orra, a Tragedy. 

The travellers had now reached the verge of the wooded 
country, and were about to plunge into its recesses, held dan- 
gerous at that time from the number of outlaws whom oppres- 
sion and poverty had driven to despair, and who occupied the 
forests in such large bands as could easily bid -defiance to 
the feeble police of the period. From these rovers, however, 
notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, Cedric and Athel- 
stane accounted themselves secure, as they had in attendance 
ten servants, besides Wamba and Gurth, whose aid could not 
be counted upon, the one being a jester and the other a cap- 
tive. It may be added, that in travelling thus late through the 
forest, Cedric and Athelstane relied on their descent and 
character as well as their courage. The outlaws, whom the 
severity of the forest laws had reduced to this roving and 
desperate mode of life, were chiefiy peasants and yeomen of 
Saxon descent, and were generally supposed to respect the 
persons and property of their countrymen. 

As the travellers journeyed on their way, they were alarmed 
by repeated cries for assistance ; and when they rode up to the 
place from whence they came, they were surprised to find a 
horse-litter placed upon the ground, beside which sat a young 
woman, richly dressed in the Jewish fashion, while an old 
man, whose yellow cap proclaimed him to belong to the same 
nation, walked up and down with gestures expressive of the 
deepest despair, and wrung his hands as if affected by some 
strange disaster. 

To the inquiries of Athelstane and Cedric, the old Jew 
could for some time only answer by invoking the protection 
of all the patriarchs of the Old Testament successively against 

182 


IVANHOE 


183 


the sons of Ishmael, who were coming to smite them, hip and 
thigh, with the edge of the sword. When he began to come to 
himself out of this agony of terror, Isaac of York (for it was 
our old friend) was at length able to explain that he had 
hired a body-guard of six men at Ashby, together with mules 
for carrying the litter of a sick friend. This party had un- 
dertaken to escort him as far as Doncaster. They had come 
thus far in safety; but, having received information from a 
wood-cutter that there was a strong band of outlaws lying in 
wait in the woods before them, Isaac’s mercenaries had not 
only taken flight, but had carried off with them the horses 
which bore the litter, and left the Jew and his daughter with- 
out the means either of defence or of retreat, to be plundered, 
and probably murdered, by the banditti, whom they expected 
every moment would bring down upon them. ^ Would it but 
please your valours,’ added Isaac, in a tone of deep humilia- 
tion, ^ to permit the poor Jews to travel under your safeguard, 
I swear by the tables of our Law that never has favour been 
conferred upon a child of Israel since the days of our captivity 
which shall be more gratefully acknowledged.’ 

^ Dog of a Jew ! ’ said Athelstane, whose memory was of that 
petty kind which stores up trifles of all kinds, but particu- 
larly trifling offences, ^dost not remember how thou didst 
beard us in the gallery at the tilt-yard ? Fight or flee, or com- 
pound with the outlaws as thou dost list, ask neither aid nor 
company from us; and if they rob only such as thee, who 
rob all the world, I, for mine own share, shall hold them right 
honest folk.’ 

Cedric did not assent to the severe proposal of his com- 
panion. ‘ We shall do better,’ said he, ^ to leave them two of 
our attendants and two horses to convey them back to the 
next village. It will diminish our strength but little; and 
with your good sword, noble Athelstane, and the aid of those 
who remain, it will be light work for us to face twenty of those 
runagates.’ 

Eowena, somewhat alarmed by the mention of outlaws in 
force, and so near them, strongly seconded the proposal of her 
guardian. But Eebecca, suddenly quitting her dejected post- 
ure, and making her way through the attendants to the palfrey 
of the Saxon lady, knelt down, and, after the Oriental fashion 
in addressing superiors, kissed the hem of Eowena’s garment. 
Then rising and throwing back her veil, she implored her in 


184 


IVANHOE 


the great name of the God whom they both worshipped, and 
by that revelation of the Law upon Mount Sinai in which they 
both believed, that she would have compassion upon them, and 
suffer them to go forward under their safeguard. ‘ It is not 
for myself that I pray this favour,’ said Eebecca; ^nor is it 
even for that poor old man. I know, that to wrong and to 
spoil our nation is a light fault, if not a merit, with the Chris- 
tians ; and what is it to us whether it be done in the city, in the 
desert, or in the field? But it is in the name of one dear to 
many, and dear even to you, that I beseech you to let this sick 
person be transported with care and tenderness under your 
protection. For, if evil chance him, the last moment of your 
life would be embittered with regret for denying that which I 
ask of you.’ 

The noble and solemn air with which Eebecca made this 
appeal gave it double weight with the fair Saxon. 

‘ The man is old and feeble,’ she said to her guardian, ^ the 
maiden young and beautiful, their friend sick and in peril of 
his life; Jews though they be, we cannot as Christians leave 
them in this extremity. Let them unload two of the sumpter 
mules and put the baggage behind two of the serfs. The mules 
may transport the litter, and we have led horses for the old 
man and his daughter.’ 

Cedric readily assented to what she proposed, and Athel- 
stane -only added the condition, ^ That they should travel in 
the rear of the whole party, where Wamba,’ he said, ^ might 
attend them with his shield of boar’s brawn.’ 

^ I have left my shield in the tilt-yard,’ answered the Jester, 
^ as has been the fate of many a better knight than myself.’ 

Athelstane coloured deeply, for such had been his own fate 
on the last day of the tournament; while Eowena, who was 
pleased in the same proportion, as if to make amends for the 
brutal jest of her unfeeling suitor, requested Eebecca to ride 
by her side. 

^It were not fit I should do so,’ answered Eebecca, with 
proud humility, ^ where my society might be held a disgrace to 
my protectress.’ 

By this time the change of baggage was hastily achieved ; for 
the single word ‘ outlaws ’ rendered every one sufficiently alert, 
and the approach of twilight made the sound yet more impres- 
sive. Amid the bustle, Gurth was taken from horseback, in 
the course of which removal he prevailed upon the Jester to 


IVANHOE 


185 


slack the cord with which his arms were bound. It was so 
negligently refastened, perhaps intentionally, on the part of 
Wamba, that Gurth found no difficulty in freeing his arms 
altogether from bondage, and then, gliding into the thicket, 
he made his escape from the party. 

The bustle had been considerable, and it was some time 
before Gurth was missed; for, as he was to be placed for the 
rest of the Journey behind a servant, every one supposed that 
some other of his companions had him under his custody, 
and when it began to be whispered among them that Gurth 
had actually disappeared, they were under such immediate 
expectation of an attack from the outlaws that it was not held 
convenient to pay much attention to the circumstance. 

The path upon which the party travelled was now so narrow 
as not to admit, with any sort of convenience, above two riders 
abreast, and began to descend into a dingle, traversed by a 
brook whose banks were broken, swampy, and overgrown with 
dwarf willows. Cedric and Athelstane, who were at the head 
of their retinue, saw the risk of being attacked at this pass; 
but neither of them having had much practice in war, no bet- 
ter mode of preventing the danger occurred to them than that 
they should hasten through the defile as fast as possible. 
Advancing, therefore, without much order, they had Just 
crossed the brook with a part of their followers, when they 
were assailed in front, flank, and rear at once, with an im- 
petuosity to which, in their confused and ill-prepared condi- 
tion, it was impossible to offer effectual resistance. The shout 
of ^ A white dragon ! — a white dragon ! St. George for merry 
England ! ’ war-cries adopted by the assailants, as belonging to 
their assumed character of Saxon outlaws, was heard on every 
side, and on every side enemies appeared with a rapidity of 
advance and attack which seemed to multiply their numbers. 

Both the Saxon chiefs were made prisoners at the same 
moment, and each under circumstances expressive of his char- 
acter. Cedric, the instant that an enemy appeared, launched 
at him his remaining Javelin, which, taking better effect than 
that which he had hurled at Fangs, nailed the man against an 
oak-tree that happened to be close behind him. Thus far suc- 
cessful, Cedric spurred his horse against a second, drawing his 
sword at the same time, and striking with such inconsiderate 
fury that his weapon encountered a thick branch which hung 
over him, and he was disarmed by the violence of his own 


186 


IVANHOE 


blow. He was instantly made prisoner, and pulled from his 
horse by two or three of the banditti who crowded around him. 
Athelstane shared his captivity, his bridle having been seized 
and he himself forcibly dismounted long before he could draw 
his weapon or assume any posture of effectual defence. 

The attendants, embarrassed with baggage, surprised and 
terrified at the fate of their masters, fell an easy prey to the 
assailants ; while the Lady Eowena, in the centre of the caval- 
cade, and the Jew and his daughter in the rear, experienced 
the same misfortune. 

Of all the train none escaped except Wamba, who showed 
upon the occasion much more courage than those who pre- 
tended to greater sense. He possessed himself of a sword be- 
longing to one of the domestics, who was just drawing it with 
a tardy and irresolute hand, laid it about him like a lion, 
drove back several who approached him, and made a brave 
though ineffectual attempt to succour his master. Finding 
himself overpowered, the Jester at length threw himself from 
his horse, plunged into the thicket, and, favoured by the gen- 
eral confusion, escaped from the scene of action. 

Yet the valiant Jester, as soon as he found himself safe, 
hesitated more than once whether he should not turn back and 
share the captivity of a master to whom he was sincerely 
attached. 

‘ I have heard men talk of the blessings of freedom,’ he said 
to himself, ^but I wish any wise man would teach me what 
use to make of it now that I have it.’ 

As he pronounced these words aloud, a voice very near him 
called out in a low and cautious tone, ^ Wamba ! ’ and at the 
same time a dog, which he recognised to be Fangs^ jumped 
up and fawned upon him. ^ Gurth ! ’ answered Wamba with 
the same caution, and the swineherd immediately stood before 
him. 

^ What is the matter ? ’ said he, eagerly ; ^ what mean these 
cries and that clashing of swords ? ’ 

^ Only a trick of the times,’ said Wamba ; ^ they are all 
prisoners.’ 

^ Who are prisoners ? ’ exclaimed Gurth, impatiently. 

" My lord and my lady, and Athelstane, and Hundebert, and 
Oswald.’ 

" In the name of God ! ’ said Gurth, " how came they pris- 
oners ? and to whom ? ’ 


IVANHOE 


187 


^ Oiir master was too ready to figM/ said the Jester, * and 
Athelstane was not ready enough, and no other person was 
ready at all. And they are prisoners to green cassocks and 
black visors. And they lie all tumbled about on the green, 
like the crab-apples that you shake down to your swine. And 
I would laugh at it/ said the honest Jester, 'if I could for 
weeping.’ And he shed tears of unfeigned sorrow. 

Gurth’s countenance kindled. ' Wamba,’ he said, 'thou 
hast a weapon, and thy heart was ever stronger than thy brain ; 
we are only two, but a sudden attack from men of resolution 
will do much ; follow me ! ’ 

' Whither? and for what purpose? ’ said the Jester. 

' To rescue Cedric.’ 

' But you have renounced his service but now,’ said Wamba. 

' That,’ said Gurth, ' was but while he was fortunate ; follow 
me ! ’ 

As the Jester was about to obey, a third person suddenly 
made his appearance and commanded them both to halt. 
From his dress and arms, Wamba would have conjectured him 
to be one of those outlaws who had just assailed his master; 
but, besides that he wore no mask, the glittering baldric across 
his shoulder, with the rich bugle-horn which it supported, as 
well as the calm and commanding expression of his voice and 
manner, made him, notwithstanding the twilight, recognize 
Locksley, the yeoman who had been victorious, under such 
disadvantageous circumstances, in the contest for the prize of 
archery. 

' What is the meaning of all this,’ said he, ' or who is it that 
rifle, and ransom, and make prisoners in these forests ? ’ 

' You may look at their cassocks close by,’ said Wamba, ' and 
see whether they be thy children’s coats or no ; for they are as 
like thine own as one green pea-cod is to another.’ 

' I will learn that presently,’ answered Locksley ; ' and I 
charge ye, on peril of your lives, not to stir from the place 
where ye stand, until I have returned. Obey me, and it shall 
be the better for you and your masters. Yet stay, I must 
render myself as like these men as possible.’ 

So saying, he unbuckled his baldric with the bugle, took a 
feather from his cap, and gave them to Wamba ; then drew a 
vizard from his pouch, and repeating his charges to them to 
stand fast, went to execute his purposes of reconnoitring. 


188 


IVANHOE 


^ Shall we stand fast, Gurth?’ said Wamba, ^or shall we 
e’en give him leg-bail? In my foolish mind, he had all the 
equipage of a thief too much in readiness to be himself a true 
man.’ 

^ Let him be the devil,’ said Gurth, ^ an he will. We can be 
no worse of waiting his return. If he belong to that party, he 
must already have given them the alarm, and it will avail 
nothing either to fight or fiy. Besides, I have late experience 
that arrant thieves are not the worst men in the world to have 
to deal with.’ 

The yeoman returned in the course of a few minutes. 

^ Friend Gurth,’ he said, ^ I have mingled among yon men, 
and have learnt to whom they belong, and whither they are 
bound. There is, I think, no chance that they will proceed to 
any actual violence against their prisoners. For three men 
to attempt them at this moment were little else than madness ; 
for they are good men of war, and have, as such, placed 
sentinels to give the alarm when any one approaches. But I 
trust soon to gather such a force as may act in defiance of all 
their precautions. You are both servants, and, as I think, 
faithful servants, of Cedric the Saxon, the friend of the rights 
of Englishmen. He shall not want English hands to help him 
in this extremity. Come, then, with me, until I gather more 
aid.’ 

So saying, he walked through the wood at a great pace, 
followed by the jester and the swineherd. It was not con- 
sistent with Wamba’s humour to travel long in silence. 

^ I think,’ said he, looking at the baldric and bugle which he 
still carried, Hhat I saw the arrow shot which won this gay 
prize, and that not so long since as Christmas.’ 

^ And I,’ said Gurth, ‘ could take it on my halidome that I 
have heard the voice of the good yeoman who won it, by night 
as well as by day, and that the moon is not three days older 
since I did so.’ 

‘ Mine honest friends,’ replied the yeoman, ^ who or what I 
am is little to the present purpose ; should I free your master, 
you will have reason to think me the best friend you have ever 
had in your lives. And whether I am known by one name or 
another, or whether I can draw a bow as well or better than 
a cow-keeper, or whether it is my pleasure to walk in sunshine 
or by moonlight, are matters which, as they do not concern 
you, so neither need ye busy yourselves respecting them.’ 


IVANHOE 


189 


' Our heads are in the lion’s mouth/ said Wamba, in a 
whisper to Gurth, ' get them out how we can.’ 

' Hush — be silent/ said Gurth. ' Offend him not by thy 
folly, and I trust sincerely that all will go well.” 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

The narrative which has been slow and interrupted since the tourna- 
ment now becomes rapid. 

Who is in the litter ?— Is it natural that Cedric and his friends should 
not be curious to find out who he is ? 

How is Cedric persuaded to allow the Jewish company to join his 
cavalcade ? 

Notice that Scott here brings together two elements in his plot ; 
Rebecca and Rowena ride side by side. 

Describe the capture of the Saxon band. Who escape ? Who are 
the captors ? 

What preparation has been made in an earlier chapter for this in- 
cident ? 

On what character does interest now centre ? 


CHAPTEK XX 


When autumn nights were long and drear, 

And forest walks were dark and dim, 

How sweetly on the pilgrim’s ear 
Was wont to steal the hermit’s hymn ! 

Devotion borrows Music’s tone, 

And Music took Devotion’s wing ; 

And, like the bird that hails the sun. 

They soar to heaven, and soaring sing. 

The Hermit of St. Clement's Well. 

It was after three hours’ good walking that the servants of 
Cedric, with their mysterious guide, arrived at a small opening 
in the forest, in the centre of which grew an oak-tree of 
enormous magnitude, throwing its twisted branches in every 
direction. Beneath this tree four or five yeomen lay stretched 
on the ground, while another, as sentinel, walked to and fro in 
the moonlight shade. 

Upon hearing the sound of feet approaching, the watch in- 
stantly gave the alarm, and the sleepers as suddenly started 
up and bent their bows. Six arrows placed on the string were 
pointed towards the quarter from which the travellers ap- 
proached, when their guide, being recognised, was welcomed 
with every token of respect and attachment, and all signs and 
fears of a rough reception at once subsided. 

^ Where is the Miller ? ’ was his first question. 

‘ On the road towards Eotherham.’ 

^ With how many?’ demanded the leader, for such he 
seemed to be. 

‘ With six men, and good hope of boot}^, if it please St. 
Nicholas.’ 

‘ Devoutly spoken,’ said Locksley ; ^ and where is Allan-a- 
Dale?’ 

^ Walked up towards the Watling Street to watch for the 
Prior of Jorvaulx.’ 

^ That is well thought on also,’ replied the Captain ; ^ and 
where is the Friar ? ’ 


190 


IVANHOE 


191 


‘ In his cell.’ 

^ Thither will I go/ said Locksley. ‘ Disperse and seek your 
companions. Collect what force you can, for there’s game 
afoot that must be hunted hard, and will turn to bay. Meet 
me here by daybreak. And, stay,’ he added, ‘ I have forgotten 
what is most necessary of the whole. Two of you take the 
road quickly towards Torquilstone, the castle of Front-de- 
Bceuf. A set of gallants, who have been masquerading in such 
guise as our own, are carrying a band of prisoners thither. 
Watch them closely, for even if they reach the castle before 
we collect our force, our honour is concerned to punish them, 
and we will find means to do so. Keep a close watch on them, 
therefore ; and despatch one of your comrades, the lightest of 
foot, to bring the news to the yeomen thereabout.’ 

They promised implicit obedience, and departed with alac- 
rity on their different errands. In the meanwhile, their 
leader and his two companions, who now looked upon him with 
great respect, as well as some fear, pursued their way to the 
chapel of Copmanhurst. 

When they had reached the little moonlight glade, having 
in front the reverend though ruinous chapel and the rude 
hermitage, so well suited to ascetic devotion, Wamba whispered 
to Gurth, ^ If this be the habitation of a thief, it makes good 
the old proverb, The nearer the church the farther from 
God.” And by my cockscomb,’ he added, ^ I think it be even 
so. Hearken but to the black sanctus which they are singing 
in the hermitage ! ’ 

In fact, the anchorite and his guest were performing, at the 
full extent of their very powerful lungs, an old drinking song, 
of which this was the burden : 

‘ Come, trowl the brown bowl to me, 

Bully boy, bully boy, 

Come, trowl the brown bowl to me. 

Ho ! jolly Jenkin, I spy a knave in drinking. 

Come, trowl the brown bowl to me.’ 

‘ Now, that is not ill sung,’ said Wamba, who had thrown in 
a few of his own flourishes to help out the chorus. ^ But who, 
in the saint’s name, ever expected to have heard such a jolly 
chant come from out a hermit’s cell at midnight ! ’ 

^ Marry, that should I,’ said Gurth, ^ for the jolly clerk of 
Copmanhurst is a known man, and kills half the deer that are 
stolen in this walk. Men say that the keeper has complained 


192 


lYANHOE 


to his official, and that he will be stripped of his cowl and cope 
altogether if he keep not better order/ 

While they were thus speaking, Locksley’s loud and re- 
peated knocks had at length disturbed the anchorite and his 
guest. ‘By my beads,’ said the hermit, stopping short in a 
grand flourish, ‘here come more benighted guests. I would 
not for my cowl that they found us in this goodly exercise. 
All men have their enemies, good Sir Sluggard ; and there be 
those malignant enough to construe the hospitable refresh- 
ment which I have been offering to you, a weary traveller, for 
the matter of three short hours, into sheer drunkenness and 
debauchery, vices alike alien to my profession and my disposi- 
tion.’ 

‘ Base calumniators ! ’ replied the knight ; ‘ I would I had 
the chastising of them. Nevertheless, Holy Clerk, it is true 
that all have their enemies; and there be those in this very 
land whom I would rather speak to through the bars of my 
helmet than barefaced.’ 

‘ Get thine iron pot on thy head then, friend Sluggard, as 
quickly as thy nature will permit,’ said the hermit, ‘ while I 
remove these pewter flagons, whose late contents run strangely 
in mine own pate; and to drown the clatter — for, in faith, I 
feel somewhat unsteady — strike into the tune which thou 
hearest me sing. It is no matter for the words ; I scarce know 
them myself.’ 

So saying, he struck up a thundering De profundis clamavi, 
under cover of which he removed the apparatus of their ban- 
quet; while the knight, laughing heartily, and arming him- 
self all the while, assisted his host with his voice from time to 
time as his mirth permitted. 

‘What devil’s matins are you after at this hour?’ said a 
voice from without. 

‘ Heaven forgive you. Sir Traveller ! ’ said the hermit, whose 
own noise, and perhaps his nocturnal potations, prevented 
from recognising accents which were tolerably familiar to him. 
‘ Wend on your way, in the name of God and St. Hunstan, 
and disturb not the devotions of me and my holy brother.’ 

‘Mad priest,’ answered the voice from without, ‘open to 
Locksley ! ’ 

‘ All’s safe — all’s right,’ said the hermit to his companion. 

‘ But who is he ? ’ said the Black Knight ; ‘ it imports me 
much to know.’ 


IVANHOE 


193 


^Who is he!^ answered the hermit; tell thee he is a 
friend/ 

‘ But what friend ? ^ answered the knight ; ^ for he may be 
friend to thee and none of mine ? ’ 

^ What friend ? ’ replied the hermit ; ^ that, now, is one of 
the questions that is more easily asked than answered. What 
friend ! why, he is, now that I bethink me a little, the very 
same honest keeper I told thee of a while since.’ 

^ Ay, as honest a keeper as thou art a pious hermit,’ replied 
the knight, ^ I doubt it not. But undo the door to him before 
he beat it from its hinges.’ 

The dogs, in the meantime, which had made a dreadful 
baying at the commencement of the disturbance, seemed now 
to recognise the voice of him who stood without; for, totally 
changing their manner, they scratched and whined at the 
door, as if interceding for his admission. The hermit speedily 
unbolted his portal, and admitted Locksley, with his two 
companions. 

‘ Why, hermit,’ was the yeoman’s first question as soon as 
he beheld the knight, ^ what boon companion hast thou here ? ’ 

‘ A brother of our order,’ replied the Friar, shaking his 
head ; ^ we have been at our orisons all night.’ 

^He is a monk of the church militant, I think,’ answered 
Locksley; ^and there be more of them abroad. I tell thee. 
Friar, thou must lay down the rosary and take up the quarter- 
staff; we shall need every one of our merry men, whether 
clerk or layman. But,’ he added, taking him a step aside, 
^ art thou mad ? to give admittance to a knight thou dost not 
know ? Hast thou forgot our articles ? ’ 

^ Not know him ! ’ replied the Friar, boldly, ‘ I know him as 
well as the beggar knows his dish.’ 

‘ And what is his name, then ? ’ demanded Locksley. 

‘ His name,’ said the hermit — ^ his name is Sir Anthony of 
Scrablestone ; as if I would drink with a man, and did not 
know his name ! ’ 

^ Thou hast been drinking more than enough. Friar,’ 
said the woodsman, ^and I fear, prating more than enough 
too.’ 

^ Good yeoman,’ said the knight, coming forward, ^ be not 
wroth with my merry host. He did but afford me the 
hospitality which I would have compelled from him if he had 
refused it.’ 


194 


IVANHOE 


‘Thou compel!’ said the Friar; ‘wait but till I have 
changed this grey gown for a green cassock, and if I make not 
a quarter-staff ring twelve upon thy pate, I am neither true 
clerk nor good woodsman.’ 

While he spoke thus, he stript off his gown, and appeared 
in a close black buckram doublet and drawers, over which he 
speedily did on a cassock of green and hose of the same colour. 
‘ I pray thee, truss my points,’ said he to Wamba, ‘ and thou 
shalt have a cup of sack for thy labour.’ 

‘ Gramercy for thy sack,’ said Wamba ; ‘ but think’st thou 
it is lawful for me to aid you to transmew thyself from a holy 
hermit into a sinful forester ? ’ 

‘ Never fear,’ said the hermit ; ‘ I will but confess the sins 
of my green cloak to my grey friar’s frock, and all shall be well 
again.’ 

‘ Amen ! ’ answered the J ester. ‘ A broadcloth penitent 
should have a sackcloth confessor, and your frock may absolve 
my motley doublet into the bargain.’ 

So saying, he accommodated the Friar with his assistance 
in tying the endless number of points, as the laces which at- 
tached the hose to the doublet were then termed. 

While they were thus employed, Locksley led the knight a 
little apart, and addressed him thus : ‘ Deny it not. Sir 
Knight, you are he who decided the victory to the advantage 
of the English against the strangers on the second day of the 
tournament at Ashby.’ 

‘ And what follows if you guess truly, good yeoman ? ’ re- 
plied the knight. 

‘ I should in that case hold you,’ replied the yeoman, ‘ a 
friend to the weaker party.’ 

‘ Such is the duty of a true knight at least,’ replied the 
Black Champion ; ‘ and I would not willingly that there were 
reason to think otherwise of me.’ 

‘ But for my purpose,’ said the yeoman, ‘ thou shouldst be 
as well a good Englishman as a good knight ; for that which I 
have to speak of concerns, indeed, the duty of every honest 
man, but is more especially that of a true-born native of 
England.’ 

‘ You can speak to no one,’ replied the knight, ‘ to whom 
England, and the life of every Englishman, can be dearer than 
to me.’ 

‘ I would willingly believ®. so,’ said the woodsman, ‘ for 


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195 


never had this country such need to be supported by those 
who love her. Hear me, and I will tell thee of an enterprise 
in which, if thou be’st really that which thou seemest, thou 
mayst take an honourable part. A band of villains, in the dis- 
guise of better men than themselves, have made themselves 
master of the person of a noble Englishman, called Cedric the 
Saxon, together with his ward and his friend Athelstane of 
Coningsburgh, and have transported them to a castle in this 
forest called Torquilstone. I ask thee, as a good knight 
and a good Englishman, wilt thou aid in their rescue ? ^ 

^ I am bound by my vow to do so,^ replied the knight ; ^ but 
I would willingly know who you are, who request my assist- 
ance in their behalf ? ’ 

^ I am,^ said the forester, ^ a nameless man ; but I am the 
friend of my country, and of my country’s friends. With this 
account of me you must for the present remain satisfied, the 
more especially since you yourself desire to continue unknown. 
Believe, however, that my word, when pledged, is as inviolate 
as if I wore golden spurs.’ 

^ I willingly believe it,’ said the knight ; ^ I have been 
accustomed to study men’s countenances, and I can read in 
thine honesty and resolution. I will, therefore, ask thee no 
further questions, but aid thee in setting at freedom these 
oppressed captives; which done, I trust we shall part better 
acquainted, and well satisfied with each other.’ 

^ So,’ said Wamba to Gurth ; for the Friar being now fully 
equipped, the Jester, having approached to the other side of 
the hut, had heard the conclusion of the conversation, ‘ so we 
have got a new ally ? I trust the valour of the knight will be 
truer metal than the religion of the hermit or the honesty of 
the yeoman ; for this Locksley looks like a born deer-stealer, 
and the priest like a lusty hypocrite.’ 

'Hold thy peace, Wamba,’ said Gurth; 'it may all be as 
thou dost guess ; but were the horned devil to rise and proffer 
me his assistance to set at liberty Cedric and the Lady 
Kowena, I fear I should hardly have religion enough to refuse 
the foul fiend’s offer, and bid hini get behind me.’ 

The Friar was now completely accoutred as a yeoman, with 
sword and buckler, bow and quiver, and a strong partizan over 
his shoulder. He left his cell at the head of the party, and, 
having carefully locked the door, deposited the key under the 
threshold. 


196 


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^ Art thou in condition to do good service, Friar/ said 
Locksley, ^ or does the brown bowl still run in thy head ? ’ 

^ Not more than a draught of St. Dunstan’s fountain will 
allay/ answered the priest ; ^ something there is of a whizzing 
in my brain, and of instability in my legs, but you shall pres- 
ently see both pass away.^ 

So saying, he stepped to the stone basin, in which the 
waters of the fountain as they fell formed bubbles which 
danced in the white moonlight, and took so long a draught as 
if he had meant to exhaust the spring. 

^ When didst thou drink as deep a draught of water before. 
Holy Clerk of Copmanhurst ? ’ said the Black Knight. 

^ Never since my wine butt leaked, and let out its liquor by 
an illegal vent,^ replied the Friar, ^ and so left me nothing to 
drink but my patron’s bounty here.’ 

Then plunging his hands and head into the fountain, he 
washed from them all marks of the midnight revel. 

Thus refreshed and sobered, the jolly priest twirled his 
heavy partizan round his head with three fingers, as if he had 
been balancing a reed, exclaiming at the same time, ^ Where 
be those false ravishers who carry off wenches against their 
will? May the foul fiend fly off with me, if I am not man 
enough for a dozen of them.’ 

‘ Swearest thou. Holy Clerk ? ’ said the Black Knight. 

^ Clerk me no clerks/ replied the transformed priest ; ^ by 
St. George and the Dragon, I am no longer a shaveling than 
while my frock is on my back. When I am cased in my green 
cassock, I will drink, swear, and woo a lass with any blythe 
forester in the West Hiding.’ 

" Come on, J ack Priest/ said Locksley, ^ and be silent ; thou 
art as noisy as a whole convent on a holy eve, when the Father 
Abbot has gone to bed. Come on you, too, my masters, tarry 
not to talk of it — I say, come on; we must collect all our 
forces, and few enough we shall have, if we are to storm the 
castle of Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf.’ 

What ! is it Front-de-Boeuf/ said the Black Knight, " who 
has stopt on the king’s highway the king’s liege subjects ? Is 
he turned thief and oppressor ? ’ 

^ Oppressor he ever was,’ said Locksley. 

" And for thief/ said the priest, " I doubt if ever he were 
even half so honest a man as many a thief of my acquaint- 
ance.’ 


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197 


^ Move on, priest, and be silent,’ said the yeoman ; ^ it were 
better yon led the way to the place of rendezvous than say 
what should be left unsaid, both in decency and prudence.’ 

COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

This is the last of the chapters between the tournament and the siegfe 
of Torquilstone Castle. 

Describe the scene beneath the huge oak tree. 

How has l/ocksley found out who captured the party of Cedric, and 
their destination ? 

What is the scene at the hermitage of Friar Tuck 7 

Where is the Castle of Torquilstone situated 7 

Observe that in this and the preceding chapters Scott not only de- 
scribes interesting events but also makes us eager to know what is to 
follow. 


*\ 

O' 


CHAPTEK XXI 

Alas, how many hours and years have past, 

Since human forms have round this table sate. 

Or lamp, or taper, on its surface gleam’d ! 

Methinks, I hear the sound of time long pass’d 
Still murmuring o’er us, in the lofty void 
Of these dark arches, like the ling’ring voices 
Of those who long within their graves have slept. 

Orra, a Tragedy. 

While these measures were taking in behalf of Cedric and his 
companions, the armed men by whom the latter had been 
seized hurried their captives along towards the place of se- 
curity where they intended to imprison them. But darkness 
came on fast, and the paths of the wood seemed but imper- 
fectly known to the marauders. They were compelled to make 
several long halts, and once or twice to return on their road 
to resume the direction which they wished to pursue. The 
summer morn had dawned upon them ere they could travel in 
full assurance that they held the right path. But confidence 
returned with light, and the cavalcade now moved rapidly 
forward. Meanwhile, the following dialogue took place be- 
tween the two leaders of the banditti : — 

^ It is time thou shouldst leave us. Sir Maurice,’ said the 
Templar to De Bracy, ‘ in order to prepare the second part of 
thy mystery. Thou art next, thou knowest, to act the Knight 
Deliverer.’ 

^ I have thought better of it,’ said De Bracy ; ^ I will not 
leave thee till the prize is fairly deposited in Front-de-Boeuf’s 
castle. There will I appear before the Lady Eowena in mine 
own shape, and trust that she will set down to the vehemence 
of my passion the violence of which I have been guilty.’ 

‘And what has made thee change thy plan, De Bracy?’ 
replied the Knight Templar. 

‘ That concerns thee nothing,’ answered his companion. 

‘ I would hope, however. Sir Knight,’ said the Templar, 
‘ that this alteration of measures arises from no suspicion of 

198 


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199 


my honourable meaning, such as Fitzurse endeavoured to in- 
stil into thee ? ’ 

‘ My thoughts are my own,^ answered De Bracy ; ‘ the fiend 
laughs, they say, when one thief robs another; and we know, 
that were he to spit fire and brimstone instead, it would never 
prevent a Templar from following his bent/ 

' Or the leader of a Free Company,’ answered the Templar, 
^ from dreading at the hands of a comrade and friend the 
injustice he does to all mankind/ 

‘ This is unprofitable and perilous recrimination,’ answered 
De Bracy ; ‘ suffice it to say, I know the morals of the Temple 
Order, and I will not give thee the power of cheating me out 
of the fair prey for which I have run such risks/ 

‘ Psha,’ replied the Templar, ^ what hast thou to fear ? 
Thou knowest the vows of our order/ 

‘ Eight well,’ said De Bracy, ^ and also how they are kept. 
Come, Sir Templar, the laws of gallantry have a liberal inter- 
pretation in Palestine, and this is a case in which I will trust 
nothing to your conscience/ 

‘ Hear the truth, then,’ said the Templar ; ^ I care not for 
your blue-eyed beauty. There is in that train one who will 
make me a better mate.’ 

‘ What ! wouldst thou stoop to the waiting damsel ? ’ said De 
Bracy. 

^ No, Sir Knight,’ said the Templar, haughtily. ^ To the 
waiting-woman will I not stoop. I have a prize among the 
captives as lovely as thine own.’ 

^ By the mass, thou meanest the fair J ewess ! ’ said De 
Bracy. 

‘ And if I do,’ said Bois-Guilbert, ‘ who shall gainsay me ? ’ 

^ No one that I know,’ said De Bracy, ^ unless it be your 
vow of celibacy or a check of conscience for an intrigue with a 
J ewess.’ 

^ For my vow,’ said the Templar, ^ our Grand Master hath 
granted me a dispensation. And for my conscience, a man 
that has slain three hundred Saracens need not reckon up 
every little failing, like a village girl at her first confession 
upon Good Friday eve.’ 

^ Thou knowest best thine own privileges,’ said De Bracy. 
^ Yet, I would have sworn thy thought had been more on the 
old usurer’s money-bags than on the black eyes of the daugh- 
ter.’ 


200 


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can admire both/ answered the Templar; ^besides, the 
old Jew is bnt half-prize. I must share his spoils with Front- 
de-Boeuf, who will not lend us the use of his castle for noth- 
ing. I must have something that I can term exclusively my 
own by this foray of ours, and I have fixed on the lovely J ewess 
as my peculiar prize. But, now thou knowest my drift, thou 
wilt resume thine own original plan, wilt thou not? Thou 
hast nothing, thou seest, to fear from my interference.’ 

^ No/ replied De Bracy, ‘ I will remain beside my prize. 
What thou sayst is passing true, but I like not the privileges 
acquired by the dispensation of the Grand Master, and the 
merit acquired by the slaughter of three hundred Saracens. 
You have too good a right to a free pardon to render you very 
scrupulous about peccadilloes.’ 

While this dialogue was proceeding, Cedric was endeavour- 
ing to wring out of those who guarded him an avowal of their 
character and purpose. ^ You should be Englishmen/ said he; 
^ and yet, sacred Heaven ! you prey upon your countrymen as 
if you were very Normans. You should be my neighbours, 
and, if so, my friends; for which of my English neighbours 
have reason to be otherwise? I tell ye, yeomen, that even 
those among ye who have been branded with outlawry have 
had from me protection ; for I have pitied their miseries, and 
curst the oppression of their tyrannic nobles. What, then, 
would you have of me ? or in what can this violence serve ye ? 
Ye are worse than brute beasts in your actions, and will you 
imitate them in their very dumbness ? ’ 

It was in vain that Cedric expostulated with his guards, 
who had too many good reasons for their silence to be induced 
to break it either by his wrath or his expostulations. They 
continued to hurry him along, travelling at a very rapid rate, 
until, at the end of an avenue of huge trees, arose Torquil- 
stone, now the hoary and ancient castle of Eeginald Front-de- 
Boeuf. It was a fortress of no great size, consisting of a don- 
jon, or large and high square tower, surrounded by buildings 
of inferior height, which were encircled by an inner courtyard. 
Around the exterior wall was a deep moat, supplied with water 
from a neighbouring rivulet. Front-de-Boeuf, whose char- 
acter placed hini often at feud with his enemies, had made 
considerable additions to the strength of his castle, by build- 
ing towers upon the outward wall, so as to flank it at every 
angle. The access, as usual in castles of the period, lay 


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201 


through an arched barbican, or outwork, which was termi- 
nated and defended by a small turret at each corner. 

Cedric no sooner saw the turrets of Front-de-Boeuf s castle 
raise their grey and moss-grown battlements, glimmering in 
the morning sun above the wood by which they were sur- 
rounded, than he instantly augured more truly concerning the 
cause of his misfortune. 

^ I did injustice,’ he said, ^ to the thieves and outlaws of 
these woods, when I supposed such banditti to belong to their 
bands; I might as justly have confounded the foxes of these 
brakes with the ravening wolves of France. Tell me, dogs, is 
it my life or my wealth that your master aims at ? Is it too 
much that two Saxons, myself and the noble Athelstane, 
should hold land in the country which was once the patrimony 
of our race? Put us, then, to death, and complete your 
tyranny by taking our lives, as you began with our liberties. 
If the Saxon Cedric cannot rescue England, he is willing to 
die for her. Tell your tyrannical master, I do only beseech 
him to dismiss the Lady Kowena in honour and safety. She 
is a woman, and he need not dread her; and with us will die 
all who dare fight in her cause.’ 

The attendants remained as mute to this address as to the 
former, and they now stood before the gate of the castle. De 
Bracy winded his horn three times, and the archers and cross- 
bow men, who had manned the wall upon seeing their ap- 
proach, hastened to lower the drawbridge and admit them. 
The prisoners were compelled by their guards to alight, and 
were conducted to an apartment where a hasty repast was 
offered them, of which none but Athelstane felt any inclina- 
tion to partake. Neither had the descendant of the Confessor 
much time to do justice to the good cheer placed before them, 
for their guards gave him and Cedric to understand that 
they were to be imprisoned in a chamber apart from Eowena. 
Kesistance was vain; and they were compelled to follow to a 
large room, which, rising on clumsy Saxon pillars, resembled 
those refectories and chapter-houses which may be still seen 
in the most ancient parts of our most ancient monasteries. 

The Lady Eowena was next separated from her train, and 
conducted, with courtesy, indeed, but still without consulting 
her inclination, to a distant apartment. The same alarming 
distinction was conferred on Eebecca, in spite of her father’s 
entreaties, who offered even money, in this extremity of dis- 


202 


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tress, that she might be permitted to abide with him. ^ Base 
unbeliever,^ answered one of his guards, ^ when thou hast seen 
thy lair, thou wilt not wish thy daughter to partake it.^ And, 
without farther discussion, the old Jew was forcibly dragged 
off in a different direction from the other prisoners. The 
domestics, after being carefully searched and disarmed, were 
confined in another part of the castle ; and Kowena was refused 
even the comfort she might have derived from the attendance 
of her handmaiden Elgitha. 

The apartment in which the Saxon chiefs were confined, for 
to them we turn our first attention, although at present used 
as a sort of guard-room, had formerly been the great hall of 
the castle. It was now abandoned to meaner purposes, be- 
cause the present lord, among other additions to the con- 
venience, security, and beauty of his baronial residence, had 
erected a new and noble hall, whose vaulted roof was sup- 
ported by lighter and more elegant pillars, and fitted up with 
that higher degree of ornament which the Normans had al- 
ready introduced into architecture. 

Cedric paced the apartment, filled with indignant reflec- 
tions on the past and on the present, while the apathy of his 
companion served, instead of patience and philosophy, to 
defend him against everything save the inconvenience of the 
present moment; and so little did he feel even this last, that 
he was only from time to time roused to a reply by Cedric’s 
animated and impassioned appeal to him. 

"Yes,’ said Cedric, half speaking to himself and half ad- 
dressing himself to Athelstane, " it was in this very hall that 
my [grand-] father feasted with Torquil Wolfganger, when 
he entertained the valiant and unfortunate Harold, then ad- 
vancing against the Norwegians, who had united themselves 
to the rebel Tosti. It was in this hall that Harold returned 
the magnanimous answer to the ambassador of his rebel 
brother. Oft have I heard my father kindle as he told the 
tale. The envoy of Tosti was admitted, when this ample 
room could scarce contain the crowd of noble Saxon lead- 
ers who were quaffing the blood-red wine around their mon- 
arch.’ 

" I hope,’ said Athelstane, somewhat moved by this part of 
his friend’s discourse, " they will not forget to send us some 
wine and refections at noon : we had scarce a breathing-space 
allowed to break our fast, and I never have the benefit of my 


IVANHOE 


203 


food when I eat immediately after dismounting from horse- 
back, though the leeches recommend that practice/ 

Cedric went on with his story without noticing this inter- 
jectional observation of his friend. 

' The envoy of Tosti,’ he said, ‘ moved up the hall, undis- 
mayed by the frowning countenances of all around him, 
until he made his obeisance before the throne of King 
Harold/ 

‘ What terms,” he said, Lord King, hath thy brother 
Tosti to hope, if he should lay down his arms and crave peace 
at thy hands ? ” 

‘ “ A brother’s love,” cried the generous Harold, and the 
fair earldom of Northumberland.” 

‘ But should Tosti accept these terms,” continued the 
envoy, "^what lands shall be assigned to his faithful ally, 
Hardrada, King of Norway? ” 

‘ Seven feet of English ground,” answered Harold, 
fiercely, "or, as Hardrada is said to be a giant, perhaps we 
may allow him twelve inches more.’ 

‘ The hall rung with acclamations, and cup and horn was 
filled to the Norwegian, who should be speedily in possession 
of his English territory.’ 

could have pledged him with all my soul,’ said Athel- 
stane, ^ for my tongue cleaves to my palate/ 

‘ The baffled envoy,’ continued Cedric, pursuing with ani- 
mation his tale, though it interested not the listener, ^re- 
treated, to carry to Tosti and his ally the ominous answer of 
his injured brother. It was then that the distant towers of 
York and the bloody streams of the Derwent * beheld that 
direful confiict, in which, after displaying the most undaunted 
valour, the King of Norway and Tosti both fell, with ten 
thousand of their bravest followers. Who would have thought 
that, upon the proud day when this battle was won, the very 
gale which waved the Saxon banners in triumph was filling 
the Norman sails, and impelling them to the fatal shores of 
Sussex ? Who would have thought that Harold, within a few 
brief days, would himself possess no more of his kingdom than 
the share which he allotted in his wrath to the Norwegian 
invader ? Who would have thought that you, noble Athelstane 
— that you, descended of Harold’s blood, and that I, whose 
father was not the worst defender of the Saxon crown. 


* See Battle of Stamford. Note 11. 


204 


IVANHOE 


should be prisoners to a vile Norman, in the very hall in which 
our ancestors held such high festival ? ’ 

^ It is sad enough,’ replied Athelstane ; ^ but I trust they 
will hold us to a moderate ransom. At any rate, it cannot be 
their purpose to starve us outright; and yet, although it is 
high noon, I see no preparations for serving dinner. Look up 
at the window, noble Cedric, and judge by the sunbeams if 
it is not on the verge of noon.’ 

^ It may be so,’ answered Cedric ; ^ but I cannot look on that 
stained lattice without its awakening other reflections than 
those which concern the passing moment or its privations. 
When that window was wrought, my noble friend, our hardy 
fathers knew not the art of making glass, or of staining it. 
The pride of Wolf ganger’s father brought an artist from 
Normandy to adorn his hall with this new species of em- 
blazonment, that breaks the golden light of God’s blessed day 
into so many fantastic hues. The foreigner came here poor, 
beggarly, cringing, and subservient, ready to doff his cap to 
the meanest native of the household. He returned pampered 
and proud to tell his rapacious countrymen of the wealth and 
the simplicity of the Saxon nobles — a folly, oh Athelstane ! 
foreboded of old, as well as foreseen by those descendants of 
Hengist and his hardy tribes who retained the simplicity of 
their manners. We made these strangers our bosom friends, 
our confldential servants ; we borrowed their artists and their 
arts, and despised the honest simplicity and hardihood with 
which our brave ancestors supported themselves; and we be- 
came enervated by Norman arts long ere we fell under Nor- 
man arms. Far better was our homely diet, eaten in peace 
and liberty, than the luxurious dainties, the love of which 
hath delivered us as bondsmen to the foreign conqueror ! ’ 

^I should,’ replied Athelstane, ^hold very humble diet a 
luxury at present; and it astonishes me, noble Cedric, that 
you can bear so truly in mind the memory of past deeds, when 
it appeareth you forget the very hour of dinner.’ 

^ It is time lost,’ muttered Cedric apart and impatiently, ^ to 
speak to him of aught else but that which concerns his appe- 
tite ! The soul of Hardicanute hath taken possession of him, 
and he hath no pleasure save to All, to swill, and to call for 
more. Alas ! ’ said he, looking at Athelstane with compas- 
sion, ‘that so dull a spirit should be lodged in so goodly a 
form! Alas! that such an enterprise as the regeneration of 


IVANHOE 


205 


England should turn on a hinge so imperfect! Wedded to 
Eowena, indeed, her nobler and more generous soul may yet 
awake the better nature which is torpid within him. Yet 
how should this be, while Eowena, Athelstane, and I myself 
remain the prisoners of this brutal marauder, and have been 
made so perhaps from a sense of the dangers which our liberty 
might bring to the usurped power of his nation ? ^ 

While the Saxon was plunged in these painful reflections, 
the door of their prison opened and gave entrance to a sewer, 
holding his white rod of office. This important person ad- 
vanced into the chamber with a grave pace, followed by four 
attendants, bearing in a table covered with dishes, the sight 
and smell of which seemed to be an instant compensation to 
Athelstane for all the inconvenience he had undergone. The 
persons who attended on the feast were masked and cloaked. 

^ What mummery is this ? ^ said Cedric ; ^ think you that we 
are ignorant whose prisoners we are, when we are in the castle 
of your master ? Tell him,’ he continued, willing to use this 
opportunity to open a negotiation for his freedom — ^ tell your 
master, Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf, that we know no reason he 
can have for withholding our liberty, excepting his unlawful 
desire to enrich himself at our expense. Tell him that we 
yield to his rapacity, as in similar circumstances we should do 
to that of a literal robber. Let him name the ransom at 
which he rates our liberty, and it shall be paid, providing the 
exaction is suited to our means.’ 

The sewer made no answer, but bowed his head. 

' And tell Sir Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf,’ said Athelstane, 
'that I send him my mortal defiance, and challenge him to 
combat with me, on foot or horseback, at any secure place, 
within eight days after our liberation ; which, if he be a true 
knight, he will not, under these circumstances, venture to 
refuse or to delay.’ 

' I shall deliver to the knight your defiance,’ answered the 
sewer ; ' meanwhile I leave you to your food.’ 

The challenge of Athelstane was delivered with no good 
grace; for a large mouthful, which required the exercise of 
both jaws at once, added to a natural hesitation, considerably 
damped the effect of the bold defiance it contained. Still, 
however, his speech was hailed by Cedric as an incontestable 
token of reviving spirit in his companion, whose previous 
indifference had begun, notwithstanding his respect for Athel- 


206 


IVANHOE 


stane’s descent, to wear out his patience. But he now cor- 
dially shook hands with him in token of his approbation, and 
was somewhat grieved when Athelstane observed, ^ That he 
would fight a dozen such men as Front-de-Boeuf, if by so doing 
he could hasten his departure from a dungeon where they 
put so much garlic into their pottage.' Notwithstanding this 
intimation of a relapse into the apathy of sensuality, Cedric 
placed himself opposite to Athelstane, and soon showed that, 
if the distress of his country could banish the recollection 
of food while the table was uncovered, yet no sooner were the 
victuals put there than he proved that the appetite of his 
Saxon ancestors had descended to him along with their other 
qualities. 

The captives had not long enjoyed their refreshment, how- 
ever, ere their attention was disturbed even from this most 
serious occupation by the blast of a horn winded before the 
gate. It was repeated three times, with as much violence as if 
it had been blown before an enchanted castle by the destined 
knight at whose summons halls and towers, barbican and 
battlement, were to roll off like a morning vapour. The 
Saxons started from the table and hastened to the window. 
But their curiosity was disappointed; for these outlets only 
looked upon the court of the castle, and the sound came from 
beyond its precincts. The summons, however, seemed of im- 
portance, for a considerable degree of bustle instantly took 
place in the castle. 

COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

At this point Scott resumes the thread of the narrative broken off with 
the capture of Cedric in Chapter XIX. Por eleven chapters attention 
will be concentrated upon the Castle of Torquilstone. 

For what reason does De Bracy alter his plan ? 

What attempts are made by the Templar to persuade him to revert to 
his first plan ? 

Why is Cedric at first mistaken as to the character of his captors ? 

Why do the sruards keep mute ? 

Make a sketch of the Castle of Front-de-Boeuf. 

What disposition is made of the Saxon company after they reach the 
Castle ? 

Under what circumstances did the father of Cedric once feast in this 
very castle ?— Describe the scene. 


IVANHOE 


207 


Harold died in 1066 , and the time assumed for this romance is 1194. 
Could Cedric’s father have been acquainted with Harold ? 

What is said concerning the invasion of Norman artists before the 
Conquest ? 

What messages are sent by Cedric and Athelstane to Front-de-Boeuf ? 
Contrast the demeanor of Cedric and Athelstane on the morning of 
their imprisonment. 

By what device is the chapter brought to a close ? 




CHAPTER XXII 


My daughter 1 O my ducats ! O my daughter ! 

. . . O my Christian ducats ! 

Justice— the Law— my ducats and my daughter ! 

Merchant of Venice. 

Leaving the Saxon chiefs to return to their banquet as soon 
as their ungratified curiosity should permit them to attend to 
the calls of their half-satiated appetite, we have to look in 
upon the yet more severe imprisonment of Isaac of York. 
The poor Jew had been hastily thrust into a dungeon-vault 
of the castle, the floor of which was deep beneath the level of 
the ground, and very damp, being lower than even the moat 
itself. The only light was received through one or two loop- 
holes far above the reach of the captive’s hand. These aper- 
tures admitted, even at mid-day, only a dim and uncertain 
light, which was changed for utter darkness long before the 
rest of the castle had lost the blessing of day. Chains and 
shackles, which had been the portion of former captives, from 
whom active exertions to escape had been apprehended, hung 
rusted and empty on the walls of the prison, and in the rings 
of one of those sets of fetters there remained two mouldering 
bones, which seemed to have been once those of the human 
leg, as if some prisoner had been left not only to perish there, 
but to be consumed to a skeleton. 

At one end of this ghastly apartment was a large fire-grate, 
over the top of which were stretched some transverse iron bars, 
half-devoured with rust. 

The whole appearance of the dungeon might have appalled 
a stouter heart than that of Isaac, who, nevertheless, was more 
composed under the imminent pressure of danger than he had 
seemed to be while affected by terrors of which the cause was 
as yet remote and contingent. The lovers of the chase say 
that the hare feels more agony during the pursuit of the 
greyhounds than when she is struggling in their fangs.* And 

* Nota Bene.— We by no means warrant the accuracy of this piece of 
natural history, which we give on the authority of the Wardour MS.— 


208 


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209 


thus it is probable that the Jews, by the very frequency of 
their fear on all occasions, had their minds in some degree 
prepared for every effort of tyranny which could be practised 
upon them; so that no aggression, when it had taken place, 
could bring with it that surprise which is the most disabling 
quality of terror. Neither was it the first time that Isaac had 
been placed in circumstances so dangerous. He had therefore 
experience to guide him, as well as hope that he might again, 
as formerly, be delivered as a prey from the fowler. Above 
all, he had upon his side the unyielding obstinacy of his na- 
tion, and that unbending resolution with which Israelites have 
been frequently known to submit to the uttermost evils which 
power and violence can inflict upon them, rather than gratify 
their oppressors by granting their demands. 

In this humour of passive resistance, and with his garment 
collected beneath him to keep his limbs from the wet pave- 
ment, Isaac sat in a corner of his dungeon, where his folded 
hands, his dishevelled hair and beard, his furred cloak and 
high cap, seen by the wiry and broken light, would have af- 
forded a study for Eembrandt, had that celebrated painter 
existed at the period. The J ew remained without altering his 
position for nearly three hours, at the expiry of which steps 
were heard on the dungeon stair. The bolts screamed as they 
were withdrawn, the hinges creaked as the wicket opened, 
and Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf, followed by the two Saracen 
slaves of the Templar, entered the prison. 

Front-de-Boeuf, a tall and strong man, whose life had been 
spent in public war or in private feuds and broils, and who 
had hesitated at no means of extending his feudal power, had 
features corresponding to his character, and which strongly 
expressed the fiercer and more malignant passions of the 
mind. The scars with which his visage was seamed would, on 
features of a different cast, have excited the sympathy and 
veneration due to the marks of honourable valour ; but, in the 
peculiar case of Front-de-Boeuf, they only added to the 
ferocity of his countenance, and to the dread which his pres- 
ence inspired. This formidable baron was clad in a leathern 
doublet, fitted close to his body, which was frayed and soiled 
with the stains of his armour. He had no weapon, excepting 
a poniard at his belt, which served to counterbalance the 
weight of the bunch of rusty keys that hung at his right 
side. 


210 


IVANHOE 


The black slaves who attended Front-de-Boeuf were stripped 
of their gorgeous apparel, and attired in jerkins and trowsers 
of coarse linen, their sleeves being tucked up above the elbow, 
like those of butchers when about to exercise their function in 
the slaughter-house. Each had in his hand a small pannier ; 
and, when they entered the dungeon, they stopt at the door 
until Front-de-Boeuf himself carefully locked and double- 
locked it. Having taken this precaution, he advanced slowly 
up the apartment towards the Jew, upon whom he kept his eye 
fixed, as if he wished to paralyse him with his glance, as some 
animals are said to fascinate their prey. It seemed, indeed, 
as if the sullen and malignant eye of Front-de-Boeuf possessed 
some portion of that supposed power over his unfortunate 
prisoner. The Jew sate with his mouth agape, and his eyes 
fixed on the savage baron with such earnestness of terror that 
his frame seemed literally to shrink together, and to diminish 
in size while encountering the fierce Norman’s fixed and bale- 
ful gaze. The unhappy Isaac was deprived not only of the 
power of rising to make the obeisance which his terror dic- 
tated, but he could not even doff his cap, or utter any word 
of supplication ; so strongly was he agitated by the conviction 
that tortures and death were impending over him. 

On the other hand, the stately form of the Norman ap- 
peared to dilate in magnitude, like that of the eagle, which 
ruffles up its plumage when about to pounce on its defenceless 
prey. He paused within three steps of the corner in which 
the unfortunate Jew had now, as it were, coiled himself up 
into the smallest possible space, and made a sign for one of 
the slaves to approach. The black satellite came forward 
accordingly, and, producing from his basket a large pair of 
scales and several weights, he laid them at the feet of Front- 
de-Boeuf, and again retired to the respectful distance at which 
his companion had already taken his station. 

The motions of these men were slow and solemn, as if there 
impended over their souls some preconception of horror and of 
cruelty. Front-de-Boeuf himself opened the scene by thus 
addressing his ill-fated captive. 

^ Most accursed dog of an accursed race,’ he said, awaking 
with his deep and sullen voice the sullen echoes of his dun- 
geon-vault, ' seest thou these scales ? ’ 

The unhappy Jew returned a feeble affirmative. 

^In these very scales shalt thou weigh me out,’ said the 


IVANHOE 


211 


relentless Baron, ^ a thousand silver pounds, after the just 
measure and weight of the Tower of London/ 

^ Holy Abraham ! ^ returned the J ew, finding voice through 
the very extremity of his danger, ‘ heard man ever such a 
demand ? Who ever heard, even in a minstrel’s tale, of such a 
sum as a thousand pounds of silver ? What human sight was 
ever blessed with the vision of such a mass of treasure? Not 
within the walls of York, ransack my house and that of all my 
tribe, wilt thou find the tithe of that huge sum of silver that 
thou speakest of/ 

^ I am reasonable,’ answered Front-de-Boeuf, ^ and if silver 
be scant, I refuse not gold. At the rate of a mark of gold for 
each six pounds of silver, thou shalt free thy unbelieving car- 
cass from such punishment as thy heart has never even con- 
ceived.’ 

^ Have mercy on me, noble knight ! ’ exclaimed Isaac ; ‘ I am 
old, and poor, and helpless. It were unworthy to triumph 
over me. It is a poor deed to crush a worm.’ 

' Old thou mayst be,’ replied the knight ; ^ more shame to 
their folly who have suffered thee to grow grey in usury and 
knavery. Feeble thou mayst be, for when had a Jew either 
heart or hand. But rich it is well known thou art.’ 

‘ I swear to you, noble knight,’ said the J ew, ^ by all which 
I believe, and by all which we believe in common ’ 

^ Perjure not thyself,’ said the Norman, interrupting him, 
^ and let not thine obstinacy seal thy doom, until thou hast 
seen and well considered the fate that awaits thee. Think not 
I speak to thee only to excite thy terror, and practise on the 
base cowardice thou hast derived from thy tribe. I swear to 
thee by that which thou dost not believe, by the Gospel which 
our church teaches, and by the keys which are given her to 
bind and to loose, that my purpose is deep and peremptory. 
This dungeon is no place for trifling. Prisoners ten thousand 
times more distinguished than thou have died within these 
walls, and their fate hath never been known ! But for thee 
is reserved a long and lingering death, to which theirs were 
luxury.’ 

He again made a signal for the slaves to approach, and 
spoke to them apart, in their own language; for he also had 
been in Palestine, where, perhaps, he had learnt his lesson of 
cruelty. The Saracens produced from their baskets a quantity 
of charcoal, a pair of bellows, and a flask of oil. While the 


212 


IVANHOE 


one struck a light with a flint and steel, the other disposed the 
charcoal in the large rusty grate which we have already men- 
tioned, and exercised the bellows until the fuel came to a red 
glow. 

^ Seest thou, Isaac,^ said Front-de-Boeuf, ^ the range of iron 
bars above that glowing charcoal ? * On that warm couch 
thou shalt lie, stripped of thy clothes as if thou wert to rest on 
a bed of down. One of these slaves shall maintain the Are 
beneath thee, while the other shall anoint thy wretched limbs 
with oil, lest the roast should burn. Now, choose betwixt such 
a scorching bed and the payment of a thousand pounds of 
silver; for, by the head of my father, thou hast no other 
option.’ 

^ It is impossible,’ exclaimed the miserable J ew — ^ it is 
impossible that your purpose can be real! The good God of 
nature never made a heart capable of exercising such 
cruelty ! ’ 

^ Trust not to that, Isaac,’ said Front-de-Boeuf, ^ it were a 
fatal error. Dost thou think that I, who have seen a town 
sacked, in which thousands of my Christian countrymen per- 
ished by sword, by flood, and by Are, will blench from my 
purpose for the outcries or screams of one single wretched 
Jew? Or thinkest thou that these swarthy slaves, who have 
neither law, country, nor conscience, but their master’s will — 
who use the poison, or the stake, or the poniard, or the cord, 
at his slightest wink — ^thinkest thou that they will have 
mercy, who do not even understand the language in which it 
is asked ? Be wise, old man ; discharge thyself of a portion of 
thy superfluous wealth; repay to the hands of a Christian a 
part of what thou hast acquired by the usury thou hast prac- 
tised on those of his religion. Thy cunning may soon swell 
out once more thy shrivelled purse, but neither leech nor med- 
icine can restore thy scorched hide and flesh wert thou once 
stretched on these bars. Tell down thy ransom, I say, and 
rejoice that at such rate thou canst redeem thee from a dun- 
geon the secrets of which few have returned to tell. I waste 
no more words with thee: choose between thy dross and thy 
flesh and blood, and as thou choosest, so shall it be.’ 

^ So may Abraham, J acob, and all the fathers of our people 
assist me,’ said Isaac, ^I cannot make the choice, because I 
have not the means of satisf5dng your exorbitant demand I ’ 

* See Torture. Note 12. 


IVANHOE 


213 


^ Seize him and strip him, slaves/ said the knight, ^ and let 
the fathers of his race assist him if they can.’ 

The asistants, taking their directions more from the Baron’s 
eye and his hand than his tongue, once more stepped forward, 
laid hands on the unfortunate Isaac, plucked him up from 
the ground, and, holding him between them, waited the hard- 
hearted Baron’s farther signal. The unhappy Jew eyed their 
countenances and that of Front-de-Boeuf, in hope of discover- 
ing some symptoms of relenting ; but that of the Baron exhib- 
ited the same cold, half-sullen, half-sarcastic smile which had 
been the prelude to his cruelty ; and the savage eyes of the Sar- 
acens, rolling gloomily under their dark brows, acquiring a yet 
more sinister expression by the whiteness of the circle which 
surrounds the pnpil, evinced rather the secret pleasure which 
they expected from the approaching scene than any reluctance 
to be its directors or agents. The Jew then looked at the 
glowing furnace over which he was presently to be stretched, 
and seeing no chance of his tormentor’s relenting, his resolu- 
tion gave way. 

^ I will pay,’ he said, ^ the thousand pounds of silver. That 
is,’ he added, after a moment’s pause, ^ I will pay it with the 
help of my brethren; for I must beg as a mendicant at the 
door of our synagogue ere I make up so unheard-of a sum. 
Wlien and where must it be delivered ? ’ 

^ Here,’ replied Front-de-Boeuf — ^ here it must be delivered ; 
weighed it must be — weighed and told down on this very 
dungeon floor. Thinkest thou I will part with thee until thy 
ransom is secure ? ’ 

‘ And what is to be my surety,’ said the Jew, ‘ that I shall be 
at liberty after this ransom is paid?’ 

^ The word of a Norman noble, thou pawnbroking slave,’ 
answered Front-de-Boeuf — ^ the faith of a Norman nobleman, 
more pure than the gold and silver of thee and all thy 
tribe.’ 

crave pardon, noble lord,’ said Isaac, timidly, ^but 
wherefore should I rely wholly on the word of one who will 
trust nothing to mine ? ’ 

^Because thou canst not help it, Jew,’ said the knight, 
sternly. ^ Wert thou now in thy treasure-chamber at York, 
and were I craving a loan of thy shekels, it would be thine to 
dictate the time of payment and the pledge of security. This 
is my treasure-chamber. Here I have thee at advantage, nor 


214 IVA^^HOE 

will I again deign to repeat the terms on which I grant thee 
liberty/ 

The Jew groaned deeply. ‘ Grant me/ he said, ‘ at least, 
with my own liberty, that of the companions with whom I 
travel. They scorned me as a Jew, yet they pitied my desola- 
tion, and because they tarried to aid me by the way a share of 
my evil hath come upon them ; moreover, they may contribute 
in some sort to my ransom.’ 

^If thou meanest yonder Saxon churls/ said Front-de- 
Boeuf, ^ their ransom will depend upon other terms than thine. 
Mind thine own concerns, Jew, I warn thee, and meddle not 
with those of others.’ 

^ I am, then/ said Isaac, ^ only to be set at liberty, together 
with mine wounded friend ? ’ 

^ Shall I twice recommend it,’ said Front-de-Boeuf, ^ to a son 
of Israel, to meddle with his own concerns, and leave those 
of others alone ? Since thou hast made thy choice, it remains 
but that thou payest down thy ransom, and that at a short 
day.’ 

^Yet hear me/ said the Jew, ^ f or the sake of that very 

wealth which thou wouldst obtain at the expense of thy ’ 

here he stopped short, afraid of irritating the savage Norman. 
But Front-de-Boeuf only laughed, and himself filled up the 
blank at which the J ew had hesitated. ^ At the expense of my 
conscience, thou wouldst say, Isaac ; speak it out — I tell thee, 
I am reasonable. I can bear the reproaches of a loser, even 
when that loser is a Jew. Thou wert not so patient, Isaac, 
when thou didst invoke justice against Jacques Fitzdotterel, 
for calling thee a usurious blood-sucker, when thy exactions 
had devoured his patrimony.’ 

' I swear by the Talmud/ said the Jew, ^ that your valour 
has been misled in that matter. Fitzdotterel drew his poniard 
upon me in mine own chamber, because I craved him for mine 
own silver. The term of payment was due at the Passover.’ 

' I care not what he did/ said Front-de-Boeuf, ^ the question 
is, when shall I have mine own? — when shall I have the 
shekels, Isaac ? ’ 

"Let my daughter Eebecca go forth to York,’ answered 
Isaac, "with your safe-conduct, noble knight, and so soon as 

man and horse can return, the treasure ’ here he groaned 

deeply, but added, after the pause of a few seconds — "the 
treasure shall be told down on this very floor.’ 


IVANHOE 


215 


^ Thy daughter ! ^ said Front-de-Boeuf, as if surprised, ‘ by 
heavens, Isaac, I would I had known of this. I deemed that 
yonder black-browed girl had been thy concubine, and I gave 
her to be a handmaiden to Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, after 
the fashion of patriarchs and heroes of the days of old, who set 
us in these matters a wholesome example.^ 

The yell which Isaac raised at this unfeeling communica- 
tion made the very vault to ring, and astounded the two Sara- 
cens so much that they let go their hold of the Jew. He 
availed himself of his enlargement to throw himself on the 
pavement and clasp the knees of Front-de-Boeuf. 

^ Take all that you have asked,’ said he, ‘ Sir Knight ; take 
ten times more — reduce me to ruin and to beggary, if thou 
wilt, — nay, pierce me with thy poniard, broil me on that 
furnace; but spare my daughter, deliver her in safety and 
honour. As thou art born of woman, spare the honour of a 
helpless maiden. She is the image of my deceased Eachael — 
she is the last of six pledges of her love. Will you deprive a 
widowed husband of his sole remaining comfort? Will you 
reduce a father to wish that his only living child were laid 
beside her dead mother, in the tomb of our fathers ? ’ 

^ I would,’ said the Norman, somewhat relenting, ^ that I 
had known of this before. I thought your race had loved 
nothing save their money-bags.’ 

‘ Think not so vilely of us, Jews though we be,’ said Isaac, 
eager to improve the moment of apparent sympathy; ^the 
hunted fox, the tortured wild-cat loves its young — the de- 
spised and persecuted race of Abraham love their children ! ’ 
^ Be it so,’ said Front-de-Boeuf ; ^ I will believe it in future, 
Isaac, for thy very sake. But it aids us not now; I cannot 
help what has happened, or what is to follow: my word is 
passed to my comrade in arms, nor would I break it for ten 
Jews and Jewesses to boot. Besides, why shouldst thou think 
evil is to come to the girl, even if she became Bois-Guilbert’s 
booty ? ’ 

^ There will — there must ! ’ exclaimed Isaac, wringing his 
hands in agony; ^when did Templars breathe aught but 
cruelty to men and dishonour to women ! ’ 

^ Dog of an infidel,’ said Front-de-Bceuf, with sparkling 
eyes, and not sorry, perhaps, to seize a pretext for working 
himself into a passion, ^ blaspheme not the Holy Order of the 
Temple of Zion, but take thought instead to pay me the ran- 


216 


IVANHOE 


som thou hast promised, or woe betide thy Jewish 
throat ! ^ 

^ Eobber and villain ! ’ said the Jew, retorting the insults of 
his oppressor with passion, which, however impotent, he now 
found it impossible to bridle, ^ I will pay thee nothing — not 
one silver penny will I pay thee — unless my daughter is de- 
livered to me in safety and honour ! ^ 

‘Art thou in thy senses, Israelite?’ said the Norman, 
sternly; ‘has thy flesh and blood a charm against heated 
iron and scalding oil ? ’ 

‘ I care not ! ’ said the Jew, rendered desperate by paternal 
affection ; ‘ do thy worst. My daughter is my flesh and blood, 
dearer to me a thousand times than those limbs which thy 
cruelty threatens. No silver will I give thee, unless I were to 
pour it molten down thy avaricious throat; no, not a silver 
penny will I give thee, Nazarene, were it to save thee from the 
deep damnation thy whole life has merited ! Take my life if 
thou wilt, and say the Jew, amidst his tortures, knew how to 
disappoint the Christian.’ 

‘ We shall see that,’ said Front-de-Boeuf ; ‘ for by the blessed 
rood, which is the abomination of thy accursed tribe, thou 
shalt feel the extremities of fire and steel ! Strip him, slaves, 
and chain him down upon the bars.’ 

In spite of the feeble struggles of the old man, the Saracens 
had already torn from him his upper garment, and were pro- 
ceeding totally to disrobe him, when the sound of a bugle, 
twice [thrice] winded without the castle, penetrated even to 
the recesses of the dungeon, and immediately after loud voices 
were heard calling for Sir Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf. Un- 
willing to be found engaged in his hellish occupation, the 
savage Baron gave the slaves a signal to restore Isaac’s gar- 
ment, and quitting the dungeon with his attendants, he left 
the Jew to thank God for his own deliverance, or to lament 
over his daughter’s captivity and probable fate, as his per- 
sonal or parental feelings might prove strongest. 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

Passins: to the dungeon of the Castle, Scott describes the scene be- 
tween Isaac of York and Pront-de-Boeuf. It occurs at the same time 
as that between Cedric and Athelstane, and is broken off by the notes 
of the same bugle without the Castle. 


IVANHOE 


217 


Describe the dungeon. 

State the details of the conversation between Isaac and Front-de- 
Bcenf. 

Front-de-Boenf is depicted as an arrant villain.— Is the portrait con- 
vincing, or does it seem unnatural ? Go over the sentiments he ex- 
presses and make up your mind as to whether any one however degraded 
would utter them. Front-de-Boeuf might well be studied in connection 
with Shakspeare’s Richard the Third. 

What redeeming qualities are possessed by Isaac of York?— Compare 
with Shakspeare’s Shy lock in this respect. 


CHAPTEE XXIII 


Nay, if the gentle spirit of moving words 
Can no way change you to a milder form, 

I’ll woo you, like a soldier, at arms’ end. 

And love you ’gainst the nature of love, force you. 

Two Gentlemen of Verona. 

The apartment to which the Lady Eowena had been intro- 
duced was fitted up with some rude attempts at ornament and 
magnificence, and her being placed there might be considered 
as a peculiar mark of respect not offered to the other prisoners. 
But the wife of Front-de-Boeuf, for whom it had been origin- 
ally furnished, was long dead, and decay and neglect had im- 
paired the few ornaments with which her taste had adorned it. 
The tapestry hung down from the walls in many places, and in 
others was tarnished and faded under the effects of the sun, or 
tattered and decayed by age. Desolate, however, as it was, 
this was the apartment of the castle which had been judged 
most fitting for the accommodation of the Saxon heiress ; and 
here she was left to meditate upon her fate, until the actors in 
this nefarious drama had arranged the several parts which 
each of them was to perform. This had been settled in a 
council held by Front-de-Boeuf, De Bracy, and the Templar, 
in which, after a long and warm debate concerning the sev- 
eral advantages which each insisted upon deriving from his 
peculiar share in this audacious enterprise, they had at length 
determined the fate of their unhappy prisoners. 

It was about the hour of noon, therefore, when De Bracy, 
for whose advantage the expedition had been first planned, 
appeared to prosecute his views upon the hand and possessions 
of the Lady Eowena. 

The interval had not entirely been bestowed in holding 
council with his confederates, for De Bracy had found leisure 
to decorate his person with all the foppery of the times. His 
green cassock and vizard were now flung aside. His long 
luxuriant hair was trained to flow in quaint tresses down his 
richly furred cloak. His beard was closely shaved, his doublet 

218 


IVANHOE 


219 


reached to the middle of his leg, and the girdle which secured 
it, and at the same time supported his ponderous sword, was 
embroidered and embossed with gold work. We have already 
noticed the extravagant fashion of the shoes at this period, and 
the points of Maurice de Bracy’s might have challenged the 
prize of extravagance with the gayest, being turned up and 
twisted like the horns of a ram. Such was the dress of a 
gallant of the period ; and, in the present instance, that effect 
was aided by the handsome person and good demeanour of the 
wearer, whose manners partook alike of the grace of a courtier 
and the frankness of a soldier. 

He saluted Rowena by doffing his velvet bonnet, garnished 
with a golden brooch, representing St. Michael trampling 
down the Prince of Evil. With this, he gently motioned the 
lady to a seat ; and, as she still retained her standing posture, 
the knight ungloved his right hand, and motioned to conduct 
her thither. But Rowena declined, by her gesture, the prof- 
fered compliment, and replied, ^ If I be in the presence of my 
jailor. Sir Knight — nor will circumstances allow me to think 
otherwise — it best becomes his prisoner to remain standing 
till she learns her doom.^ 

^ Alas ! fair Rowena,^ returned De Bracy, ^ you are in pres- 
ence of your captive, not your jailor; and it is from your fair 
eyes that De Bracy must receive that doom which you fondly 
expect from him.^ 

‘ I know you not, sir,^ said the lady, drawing herself up with 
all the pride of offended rank and beauty — ‘ I know you not ; 
and the insolent familiarity with which you apply to me the 
jargon of a troubadour forms no apology for the violence of a 
robber.’ 

^ To thyself, fair maid,’ answered De Bracy, in his former 
tone — ^ to thine own charms be ascribed whate’er I have done 
which passed the respect due to her whom I have chosen queen 
of my heart and loadstar of my eyes.’ 

' I repeat to you. Sir Knight, that I know you not, and that 
no man wearing chain and spurs ought thus to intrude him- 
self upon the presence of an unprotected lady.’ 

^ That I am unknown to you,’ said De Bracy, ^ is indeed my 
misfortune; yet let me hope that De Bracy’s name has not 
been always unspoken when minstrels or heralds have praised 
deeds of chivalry, whether in the lists or in the battlefield.’ 

^ To heralds and to minstrels, then, leave thy praise, Sir 


220 


IVANHOE 


Knight/ replied Eowena, * more suiting for their mouths than 
for thine own ; and tell me which of them shall record in song, 
or in book of tourney, the memorable conquest of this night, a 
conquest obtained over an old man, followed by a few timid 
hinds; and its booty, an unfortunate maiden transported 
against her will to the castle of a robber ? ’ 

^ You are unjust. Lady Eowena,’ said the knight, biting his 
lips in some confusion, and speaking in a tone more natural 
to him than that of affected gallantry which he had at first 
adopted ; ^ yourself free from passion, you can allow no excuse 
for the frenzy of another, although caused by your own 
beauty.’ 

^ I pray you. Sir Knight,’ said Eowena, ^ to cease a language 
so commonly used by strolling minstrels that it becomes not 
the mouth of knights or nobles. Certes, you constrain me to 
sit down, since you enter upon such commonplace terms, of 
which each vile crowder hath a stock that might last from 
hence to Christmas.’ 

^ Proud damsel,’ said De Bracy, incensed at finding his 
gallant style procured him nothing but contempt — ^ proud 
damsel, thou shalt be as proudly encountered. Know, then, 
that I have supported my pretensions to your hand in the way 
that best suited thy character. It is meeter for thy humour 
to be wooed with bow and bill than in set terms and in courtly 
language.’ 

^ Courtesy of tongue,’ said Eowena, ^ when it is used to veil 
churlishness of deed, is but a knight’s girdle around the breast 
of a base clown. I wonder not that the restraint appears to 
gall you : more it were for your honour to have retained the 
dress and language of an outlaw than to veil the deeds of one 
under an affectation of gentle language and demeanour.’ 

^ You counsel well, lady,’ said the Norman; ^ and in the bold 
language which best justifies bold action, I tell thee, thou 
shalt never leave this castle, or thou shalt leave it as Maurice 
de Bracy’s wife. I am not wont to be baffled in my enter- 
prises, nor needs a Norman noble scrupulously to vindicate his 
conduct to the Saxon maiden whom he distinguishes by the 
offer of his hand. Thou art proud, Eowena, and thou art the 
fitter to be my wife. By what other means couldst thou be 
raised to high honour and to princely place, saving by my 
alliance? How else wouldst thou escape from the mean pre- 
cincts of a country grange, where Saxons herd with the swine 


IVANHOE 


221 


which form their wealth, to take thy seat, honoured as thou 
shouldst be, and shalt be, amid all in England that is dis- 
tinguished by beauty or dignified by power ? ^ 

' Sir Knight,’ replied' Eowena, ‘the grange which you con- 
temn hath been my shelter from infancy ; and, trust me, when 
I leave it — should that day ever arrive — it shall be with one 
who has not learnt to despise the dwelling and manners in 
which I have been brought up.’ 

‘ I guess your meaning, lady,’ said De Bracy, ‘ though you 
may think it lies too obscure for my apprehension. But 
dream not that Eichard Coeur-de-Lion will ever resume his 
throne, far less that Wilfred of Ivanhoe, his minion, will ever 
lead thee to his footstool, to be there welcomed as the bride of 
a favourite. Another suitor might feel jealousy while he 
touched this string; but my firm purpose cannot be changed 
by a passion so childish and so hopeless. Know, lady, that this 
rival is in my power, and that it rests but with me to betray 
the secret of his being within the castle to Front-de-Boeuf, 
whose jealousy will be more fatal than mine.’ 

‘ Wilfred here ! ’ said Eowena, in disdain ; ‘ that is as true 
as that Front-de-Boeuf is his rival.’ 

De Bracy looked at her steadily for an instant. ‘ Wert 
thou really ignorant of this ? ’ said he ; ‘ didst thou not know 
that Wilfred of Ivanhoe travelled in the litter of the Jew? 
— a meet conveyance for the crusader whose doughty arm was 
to reconquer the Holy Sepulchre ! ’ And he laughed scorn- 
fully. 

‘And if he is here,’ said Eowena, compelling herself to a 
tone of indifference, though trembling with an agony of appre- 
hension which she could not suppress, ‘ in what is he the rival 
of Front-de-Boeuf ? or what has he to fear beyond a short im- 
prisonment and an honourable ransom, according to the use of 
chivalry ? ’ 

‘Eowena,’ said De Bracy, ‘art thou, too, deceived by the 
common error of thy sex, who think there can be no rivalry 
but that respecting their own charms? Knowest thou not 
there is jealousy of ambition and of wealth, as well as of 
love; and that this our host, Front-de-Boeuf, will push from 
his road him who opposes his claim to the fair barony of Ivan- 
hoe as readily, eagerly, and unscrupulously as if he were pre- 
ferred to him by some blue-eyed damsel? But smile on my 
suit, lady, and the wounded champion shall have nothing 


222 


IVANHOE 


to fear from Front-de-Bceuf, whom else thou mayst mourn for, 
as in the hands of one who has never shown compassion.’ 

^ Save him, for the love of Heaven ! ’ said Rowena, her firm- 
ness giving way under terror for her lover’s impending fate. 

can — I will — it is my purpose,’ said De Bracy; ^ for, 
when Rowena consents to be the bride of De Bracy, who is it 
shall dare to put forth a violent hand upon her kinsman — the 
son of her guardian — the companion of her youth ? But it is 
thy love must buy his protection. I am not romantic fool 
enough to farther the fortune, or avert the fate, of one who is 
likely to be a successful obstacle between me and my wishes. 
Use' thine influence with me in his behalf, and he is safe ; 
refuse to employ it, Wilfred dies, and thou thyself art not the 
nearer to freedom.’ 

^ Thy language,’ answered Rowena, ^ hath in its indifferent 
bluntness something which cannot be reconciled with the 
horrors it seems to express. I believe not that thy purpose is 
so wicked, or thy power so great.’ 

^ Flatter thyself, then, with that belief,’ said De Bracy, 
^ until time shall prove it false. Thy lover lies wounded in 
this castle — thy preferred lover. He is a bar betwixt Front- 
de-Boeuf and that which Front-de-Boeuf loves better than 
either ambition or beauty. What will it cost beyond the blow 
of a poniard, or the thrust of a javelin, to silence his opposi- 
tion for ever? Hay, were Front-de-Boeuf afraid to justify a 
deed so open, let the leech but give his patient a wrong 
draught, let the chamberlain, or the nurse who tends him, but 
pluck the pillow from his head, and Wilfred, in his present 
condition, is sped without the effusion of blood. Cedric 
also ’ 

^ And Cedric also,’ said Rowena, repeating his words — ^ my 
noble — my generous guardian! I deserved the evil I have 
encountered, for forgetting his fate even in that of his son ! ’ 

^ Cedric’s fate also depends upon thy determination,’ said 
De Bracy, and I leave thee to form it.’ 

Hitherto, Rowena had sustained her part in this trying 
scene with undismayed courage, but it was because she had not 
considered the danger as serious and imminent. Her disposi- 
tion was naturally that which physiognomists consider as 
proper to fair complexions — mild, timid, and gentle; but it 
had been tempered, and, as it were, hardened, by the circum- 
stances of her education. Accustomed to see the will of all. 


IVANHOE 


223 


even of Cedric himself — sufficiently arbitrary with others — 
give way before her wishes, she had acquired that sort of cour- 
age and self-confidence which arises from the habitual and 
constant deference of the circle in which we move. She could 
scarce conceive the possibility of her will being opposed, far 
less that of its being treated with total disregard. 

Her haughtiness and habit of domination was, therefore, a 
fictitious character, induced over that which was natural to 
her, and it deserted her when her eyes were opened to the 
extent of her own danger, as well as that of her lover and her 
guardian; and when she found her will, the slightest expres- 
sion of which was wont to command respect and attention, now 
placed in opposition to that of a man of a strong, fierce, and 
determined mind, who possessed the advantage over her, and 
was resolved to use it, she quailed, before him. 

After casting her eyes around, as if to look for the aid which 
was nowhere to be found, and after a few broken interjections, 
she raised her hands to heaven, and burst into a passion of 
uncontrolled vexation and sorrow. It was impossible to see so 
beautiful a creature in such extremity without feeling for her, 
and De Bracy was not unmoved, though he was yet more em- 
barrassed than touched. He had, in truth, gone too far to 
recede ; and yet, in Eowena’s present condition, she could not 
be acted on either by argument or threats. He paced the 
apartment to and fro, now vainly exhorting the terrified 
maiden to compose herself, now hesitating concerning his own 
line of conduct. 

‘ If,’ thought he, ^ I should be moved by the tears and sor- 
row of this disconsolate damsel, what should I reap but the 
loss of those fair hopes for which I have encountered so much 
risk, and the ridicule of Prince J ohn and his jovial comrades ? 
And yet,’ he said to himself, ^ I feel myself ill framed for the 
part which I am playing. I cannot look on so fair a face 
while it is disturbed with agony, or on those eyes when they 
are drowned in tears. I would she had retained her original 
haughtiness of disposition, or that I had a larger share of 
Front-de-Boeuf’s thrice-tempered hardness of heart ! ’ 

Agitated by these thoughts, he could only bid the unfortu- 
nate Eowena be comforted, and assure her that as yet she had 
no reason for the excess of despair to which she was now 
giving way. But in this task of consolation De Bracy was in- 
terrupted by the horn, ^ hoarse-winded blowing far and keen,’ 


224 


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which had at the same time alarmed the other inmates of the 
castle, and interrupted their several plans of avarice and of 
license. Of them all, perhaps, De Bracy least regretted the 
interruption; for his conference with the Lady Eowena had 
arrived at a point where he found it equally difficult to prose- 
cute or to resign his enterprise. 

And here we cannot but think it necessary to offer some 
better proof than the incidents of an idle tale to vindicate the 
melancholy representation of manners which has been just laid 
before the reader. It is grievous to think that those valiant 
barons, to whose stand against the crown the liberties of Eng- 
land were indebted for their existence, should themselves have 
been such dreadful oppressors, and capable of excesses con- 
trary not only to the laws of England, but to those of nature 
and humanity. But, alas ! we have only to extract from the 
industrious Henry one of those numerous passages which he 
has collected from contemporary historians, to prove that 
fiction itself can hardly reach the dark reality of the horrors 
of the period. 

The description given by the author of the Saxon Chronicle 
of the cruelties exercised in the reign of King Stephen by the 
great barons and lords of castles, who were all Hermans, af- 
fords a strong proof of the excesses of which. they were capable 
when their passions were inflamed. ^ They grievously op- 
pressed the poor people by building castles; and when they 
were built, they filled them with wicked men, or rather devils, 
who seized both men and women who they imagined had any 
money, threw them into prison, and put them to more cruel 
tortures than the martyrs ever endured. They suffocated some 
in mud, and suspended others by the feet, or the head, or the 
thumbs, kindling fires below them. They squeezed the heads 
of some with knotted cords till they pierced their brains, 
while they threw others into dungeons swarming with ser- 
pents, snakes, and toads.’ But it would he cruel to put the 
reader to the pain of perusing the remainder of this descrip- 
tion.* 

As another instance of these bitter fruits of conquest, and 
perhaps the strongest that can be quoted, we may mention, 
that the Empress Matilda, though a daughter of the King of 
Scotland, and afterwards both Queen of England and Empress 
of Germany, the daughter, the wife, and the mother of mon- 
* Henry’s Hist., edit. 1805, vol. vii. p. 346. 


IVANHOE 


225 


archs, was obliged, during her early residence for education 
in England, to assume the veil of a nun, as the only means of 
escaping the licentious pursuit of the Norman nobles. This 
excuse she stated before a great council of the clergy of Eng- 
land, as the sole reason for her having taken the religious 
habit. The assembled clergy admitted the validity of the plea, 
and the notoriety of the circumstances upon which it was 
founded; giving thus an indubitable and most remarkable 
testimony to the existence of that disgraceful license by which 
that age was stained. It was a matter of public knowledge, 
they said, that after the conquest of King William, his Nor- 
man followers, elated by so great a victory, acknowledged no 
law but their own wicked pleasure, and not only despoiled 
the conquered Saxons of their lands and their goods, but in- 
vaded the honour of their wives and of their daughters with 
the most unbridled license; and hence it was then common 
for matrons and maidens of noble families to assume the veil, 
and take shelter in convents, not as called thither by the voca- 
tion of God, but solely to preserve their honour from the 
unbridled wickedness of man. 

Such and so licentious were the times, as announced by 
the public declaration of the assembled clergy, recorded by 
Eadmer; and we need add nothing more to vindicate the 
probability of the scenes which we have detailed, and are about 
to detail, upon the more apocryphal authority of the Wardour 
MS. 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

This parallel scene between Rowena and De Bracy, as it began some- 
what later in the morning, is shorter than the two preceding ones. To 
eke out the chapter after the winding of the horn, are added some mis- 
cellaneous remarks on the condition of society, drawn from Robert 
Henry, a Scotch historian, and from the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. 

What council had been held in the Castle ? 

Describe the room assigned to Rowena. 

De Bracy is intended as a typical gallant of the period. 

How is he dressed? 

Is he more natural than Rront-de-Bceuf ? 

How has he discovered that the wounded man in the litter is Ivanhoe ? 

Why would Pront-de-Boeuf dispose of Ivanhoe if he had a chance ? 

Hxplain the conduct of Rowena. 


CHAPTEE XXIV 


I’ll woo her as the lion woos his bride. 

Douglas. 

While the scenes we have described were passing in other 
parts of the castle, the Jewess Eebecca awaited her fate in a 
distant and sequestered turret. Hither she had been led by 
two of her disguised ravishers, and on being thrust into the 
little cell, she found herself in the presence of an old sibyl, 
who kept murmuring to herself a Saxon rhyme, as if to beat 
time to the revolving dance which her spindle was perform- 
ing upon the floor. The hag raised her head as Eebecca en- 
tered, and scowled at the fair Jewess with the malignant 
envy with which old age and ugliness, when united with evil 
conditions, are apt to look upon youth and beauty. 

^ Thou must up and away, old house-cricket,’ said one of the 
men ; ‘ our noble master commands it. Thou must e’en leave 
this chamber to a fairer guest.’ 

^ Ay,’ grumbled the hag, ^ even thus is service requited. I 
have known when my bare word would have cast the best 
man-at-arms among ye out of saddle and out of service; and 
now must I up and away at the command of every groom such 
as thou.’ 

^ Good Dame TJrfried,’ said the other man, ^ stand not to 
reason on it, but up and away. Lords’ bests must be listened 
to with a quick ear. Thou hast had thy day, old dame, but 
thy sun has long been set. Thou art now the very emblem of 
an old war-horse turned out on the barren heath; thou hast 
had thy paces in thy time, but now a broken amble is the best 
of them. Come, amble off with thee.’ 

^ 111 omens dog ye both ! ’ said the old woman ; ^ and a ken- 
nel be your burying-place ! May the evil demon Zernebock 
tear me limb from limb, if I leave my own cell ere I have spun 
out the hemp on my distaff ! ’ 

^ Answer it to our lord, then, old house-flend,’ said the 
man, and retired, leaving Eebecca in company with the old 

226 


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227 


woman, upon whose presence she had been thus unwillingly 
forced. 

^ What devil’s deed have they now in the wind ? ’ said the 
old hag, murmuring to herself, yet from time to time casting 
a sidelong and malignant glance at Rebecca ; ‘ but it is easy to 
guess. Bright eyes, black locks, and a skin like paper, ere the 
priest stains it with his black unguent ! Ay, it is easy to guess 
why they send her to this lone turret, whence a shriek could 
no more be heard than at the depth of five hundred fathoms 
beneath the earth. Thou wilt have owls for thy neighbours, 
fair one ; and their screams will be heard as far, and as much 
regarded, as thine own. Outlandish, too,’ she said, marking 
the dress and turban of Rebecca. ^ What country art thou of ? 
— a Saracen or an Egyptian ? Why dost not answer ? Thou 
canst weep, canst thou not speak ? ’ 

^ Be not angry, good mother,’ said Rebecca. 

‘ Thou needst say no more,’ replied Urfried ; ^ men know a 
fox by the train, and a Jewess by her tongue.’ 

‘ For the sake of mercy,’ said Rebecca, ^ tell me what I am 
to expect at the conclusion of the violence which hath dragged 
me hither ! Is it my life they seek, to atone for my religion ? 
I will lay it down cheerfully.’ 

^ Thy life, minion ! ’ answered the sybil ; ^ what would taking 
thy life pleasure them? Trust me, thy life is in no peril. 
Such usage shalt thou have as was once thought good enough 
for a noble Saxon maiden. And shall a Jewess like thee 
repine because she hath no better? Look at me. I was as 
young and twice as fair as thou, when Front-de-Boeuf, father 
of this Reginald, and his Normans, stormed this castle. My 
father and his seven sons defended their inheritance from 
story to story, from chamber to chamber. There was not a 
room, not a step of the stair, that was not slippery with their 
blood. They died — they died every man ; and ere their bodies 
were cold, and ere their blood was dried, I had become the prey 
and the scorn of the conqueror ! ’ 

' Is there no help ? Are there no means of escape ? ’ said 
Rebecca. ^ Richly — richly would I requite thine aid.’ 

^ Think not of it,’ said the hag; ^ from hence there is no 
escape but through the gates of death; and it is late — late,’ 
she added, shaking her grey head, ^ ere these open to us. Yet 
it is comfort to think that we leave behind us on earth those 
who shall be wretched as ourselves. Fare thee well, Jewess! 


22S 


IVANHOE 


Jew or Gentile, thy fate would be the same ; for thou hast to 
do with them that have neither scruple nor pity. Fare thee 
well, I say. My thread is spun out ; thy task is yet to begin.^ 

^ Stay ! stay ! for Heaven’s sake ! ’ said Kebecca — ^ stay, 
though it be to curse and to revile me; thy presence is yet 
some protection.’ 

^The presence of the mother of God were no protection,’ 
answered the old woman. ^ There she stands,’ pointing to a 
rude image of the Virgin Mary, ^ see if she can avert the fate 
that awaits thee.’ 

She left the room as she spoke, her features writhed into a 
sort of sneering laugh, which made them seem even more 
hideous than their habitual frown. She locked the door be- 
hind her, and Eebecca might hear her curse every step for 
its steepness, as slowly and with difficulty she descended the 
turret stair. 

Eebecca was now to expect a fate even more dreadful than 
that of Eowena; for what probability was there that either 
softness or ceremony would be used towards one of her op- 
pressed race, whatever shadow of these might be preserved to- 
wards a Saxon heiress? Yet had the Jewess this advantage, 
that she was better prepared by habits of thought, and by 
natural strength of mind, to encounter the dangers to which 
she was exposed. Of a strong and observing character, even 
from her earliest years, the pomp and wealth which her father 
displayed within his walls, or which she witnessed in the 
houses of other wealthy Hebrews, had not been able to blind 
her to the precarious circumstances under which they were 
enjoyed. Like Damocles at his celebrated banquet, Eebecca 
perpetually beheld, amid that gorgeous display, the sword 
which was suspended over the heads of her people by a single 
hair. These reflections had tamed and brought down to a 
pitch of sounder judgment a temper which, under other cir- 
cumstances, might have waxed haughty, supercilious, and 
obstinate. 

From her father’s example and injunctions, Eebecca had 
learnt to bear herself courteously towards all who approached 
her. She could not indeed imitate his excess of subservience, 
because she was a stranger to the meanness of mind and to the 
constant state of timid apprehension by which it was dictated ; 
but she bore herself with a proud humility, as if submitting to 
the evil circumstances in which she was placed as the daughter 


IVANHOE 


229 


of a despised race, while she felt in her mind the consciousness 
that she was entitled to hold a higher rank from her merit 
than the arbitrary despotism of religious prejudice permitted 
her to aspire to. 

Thus prepared to expect adverse circumstances, she had 
acquired the firmness necessary for acting under them. Her 
present situation required all her presence of mind, and she 
summoned it up accordingly. 

Her first care was to inspect the apartment ; but it afforded 
few hopes either of escape or protection. It contained neither 
secret passage nor trap-door, and, unless where the door by 
which she had entered joined the main building, seemed to be 
circumscribed by the round exterior wall of the turret. The 
door had no inside bolt or bar. The single window opened 
upon an embattled space surmounting the turret, which gave 
Rebecca, at first sight, some hopes of escaping; but she soon 
found it had no communication with any other part of the 
battlements, being an isolated bartizan, or balcony, secured, 
as usual, by a parapet, with embrasures, at which a few archers 
might be stationed for defending the turret, and flanking with 
their shot the wall of the castle on that side. 

There was therefore no hope but in passive fortitude, and in 
that strong reliance on Heaven natural to great and generous 
characters. Rebecca, however erroneously taught to interpret 
the promises of Scripture to the chosen people of Heaven, did 
not err in supposing the present to be their hour of trial, or in 
trusting that the children of Zion would be one day called in 
with the fulness of the Gentiles. In the meanwhile, all around 
her showed that their present state was that of punishment 
and probation, and that it was their especial duty to suffer 
without sinning. Thus prepared to consider herself as the 
victim of misfortune, Rebecca had early reflected upon her own 
state, and schooled her mind to meet the dangers which she 
had probably to encounter. 

The prisoner trembled, however, and changed colour, when 
a step was heard on the stair, and the door of the turret-cham- 
ber slowly opened, and a tall man, dressed as one of those 
banditti to whom they owed their misfortune, slowly entered, 
and shut the door behind him; his cap, pulled down upon 
his brows, concealed the upper part of his face, and he held 
his mantle in such a manner as to muffle the rest. In this 
guise, as if prepared for the execution of some deed, at the 


230 


IVANHOE 


thought of which he was himself ashamed, he stood before 
the affrighted prisoner; yet, ruffian as his dress bespoke him, 
he seemed at a loss to express what purpose had brought him 
thither, so that Kebecca, making an effort upon herself, had 
time to anticipate his explanation. She had already unclasped 
two costly bracelets and a collar, which she hastened to proffer 
to the supposed outlaw, concluding naturally that to gratify 
his avarice was to bespeak his favour. 

^ Take these,^ she said, ^ good friend, and for God’s sake be 
merciful to me and my aged father ! These ornaments are of 
value, yet are they trifling to what he would bestow to obtain 
our dismissal from this castle free and uninjured.’ 

^ Fair flower of Palestine,’ replied the outlaw, ^ these pearls 
are orient, but they yield in whiteness to your teeth; the 
diamonds are brilliant, but they cannot match your eyes ; and 
ever since I have taken up this wild trade, I have made a vow 
to prefer beauty to wealth.’ 

^ Do not do yourself such wrong,’ said Eebecca ; ^ take ran- 
som, and have mercy ! Gold will purchase your pleasure ; to 
misuse us could only bring thee remorse. My father will 
willingly satiate thy utmost wishes; and if thou wilt act 
wisely, thou mayst purchase with our spoils thy restoration 
to civil society — mayst obtain pardon for past errors, and be 
placed beyond the necessity of committing more.’ 

^ It is well spoken,’ replied the outlaw in French, finding it 
difficult probably to sustain in Saxon a conversation which 
Eebecca had opened in that language ; ^ but know, bright lily 
of the vale of Baca ! that thy father is already in the hands of 
a powerful alchemist, who knows how to convert into gold and 
silver even the rusty bars of a dungeon grate. The venerable 
Isaac is subjected to an alembic which will distil from him all 
he holds dear, without any assistance from my requests or thy 
entreaty. Thy ransom must be paid by love and beauty, and 
in no other coin will I accept it.’ 

^ Thou art no outlaw,’ said Eebecca, in the same language in 
which he addressed her; ^no outlaw had refused such offers. 
No outlaw in this land uses the dialect in which thou hast 
spoken. Thou art no outlaw, but a Norman — a Norman, 
noble perhaps in birth. 0, be so in thy actions, and cast off 
this fearful mask of outrage and violence ! ’ 

^ And thou, who canst guess so truly,’ said Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, dropping the mantle from his face, ^ art no true 


IVANHOE 


231 


daughter of Israel, but in all save youth and beauty a very 
witch of Endor. I am not an outlaw then, fair rose of Sharon. 
And I am one who will be more prompt to hang thy neck and 
arms with pearls and diamonds, which so well become them, 
than to deprive thee of these ornaments.’ 

^ What wouldst thou have of me,’ said Rebecca, ^ if not my 
wealth? We can have nought in common between us; you 
are a Christian, I am a Jewess. Our union were contrary to 
the laws alike of the church and the synagogue.’ 

‘ It were so, indeed,’ replied the Templar, laughing. ^ Wed 
with a Jewess! Despardieux! Not if she were the Queen of 
Sheba ! And know, besides, sweet daughter of Zion, that were 
the most Christian king to offer me his most Christian daugh- 
ter, with Languedoc for a dowry, I could not wed her. It is 
against my vow to love any maiden, otherwise than par 
amours, as I will love thee. I am a Templar. Behold the 
cross of my holy order.’ 

^ Barest thou appeal to it,’ said Rebecca, ‘ on an occasion 
like the present ? ’ 

‘ And if I do so,’ said the Templar, ‘ It concerns not thee, 
who art no believer in the blessed sign of our salvation.’ 

^ I believe as my fathers taught,’ said Rebecca ; ^ and may 
God forgive my belief if erroneous! But you. Sir Knight, 
what is yours, when you appeal without scruple to that which 
you deem most holy, even while you are about to transgress 
the most solemn of your vows as a knight and as a man of 
religion ? ’ 

‘ It is gravely and well preached, 0 daughter of Sirach ! ’ 
answered the Templar ; ^ but, gentle Ecclesiastica, thy narrow 
Jewish prejudices make thee blind to our high privilege. 
Marriage were an enduring crime on the part of a Templar; 
but what lesser folly I may practise, I shall speedily be 
absolved from at the next preceptory of our order. Not the 
wisest of monarchs, not his father, whose examples you must 
needs allow are weighty, claimed wider privileges than we poor 
soldiers of the Temple of Zion have won by our zeal in its 
defence. The protectors of Solomon’s temple may claim 
license by the example of Solomon.’ 

^ If thou readest the Scripture,’ said the Jewess, ^ and the 
lives of the saints, only to justify thine own license and 
profligacy, thy crime is like that of him who extracts poison 
from the most healthful and necessary herbs.’ 


232 


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The eyes of the Templar flashed fire at this reproof. 
^ Hearken/ he said, ^ Eebecca ; I have hitherto spoken mildly 
to thee, but now my language shall be that of a conqueror. 
Thou art the captive of my bow and spear, subject to my 
will by the laws of all nations ; nor will I abate an inch of my 
right, or abstain from taking by violence what thou refusest 
to entreaty or necessity.’ 

^ Stand back/ said Eebecca — ^ stand back, and hear me ere 
thou offerest to commit a sin so deadly! My strength thou 
mayst indeed overpower, for God made women weak, and 
trusted their defence to man’s generosity. But I will proclaim 
thy villainy. Templar, from one end of Europe to the other. I 
will owe to the superstition of thy brethren what their com- 
passion might refuse me. Each preceptory — -each chapter of 
thy order, shall learn that, like a heretic, thou hast sinned 
with a Jewess. Those who tremble not at thy crime will hold 
thee accursed for having so far dishonoured the cross thou 
wearest as to follow a daughter of my people.’ 

^Thou art keen-witted, Jewess/ replied the Templar, well 
aware of the truth of what she spoke, and that the rules of his 
order condemned in the most positive manner, and under high 
penalties, such intrigues as he now prosecuted, and that in 
some instances even degradation had followed upon it — ^ thou 
art sharp-witted,’ he said ; ^ but loud must be thy voice of com- 
plaint if it is heard beyond the iron walls of this castle ; within 
these, murmurs, laments, appeals to justice, and screams for 
help die alike silent away. One thing only can save thee, 
Eebecca. Submit to thy fate, embrace our religion, and thou 
shalt go forth in such state that many a Norman lady shall 
yield as well in pomp as in beauty to the favourite of the 
best lance among the defenders of the Temple.’ 

^ Submit to my fate I ’ said Eebecca ; ^ and, sacred Heaven ! 
to what fate? Embrace thy religion! and what religion can 
it be that harbours such a villain? Thou the best lance of 
the Templars ! Craven knight ! — forsworn priest ! I spit at 
thee, and I defy thee. The God of Abraham’s promise hath 
opened an escape to his daughter — even from this abyss of 
infamy ! ’ 

As she spoke, she threw open the latticed window which led 
to the bartizan, and in an instant after stood on the very 
verge of the parapet, with not the slightest screen between her 
and the tremendous depth below. Unprepared for such a des- 


IVANHOE 


333 


perate effort, for she had hitherto stood perfectly motionless, 
Bois-Guilbert had neither time to intercept nor to stop her. 
As he offered to advance, she exclaimed, ‘ Kemain where thou 
art, proud Templar, or at thy choice advance! — one foot 
nearer, and I plunge myself from the precipice ; my body shall 
be crushed out of the very form of humanity upon the stones 
of that courtyard ere it become the victim of thy brutal- 
ity!’ 

As she spoke this, she clasped her hands and extended them 
towards heaven, as if imploring mercy on her soul before she 
made the final plunge. The Templar hesitated, and a resolu- 
tion which had never yielded to pity or distress gave way to 
his admiration of her fortitude. ^ Come down,’ he said, ^ rash 
girl ! I swear by earth, and sea, and sky, I will offer thee no 
offence.’ 

^ I will not trust thee. Templar,’ said Eebecca ; ^ thou hast 
taught me better how to estimate the virtues of thine order. 
The next preceptory would grant thee absolution for an oath 
the keeping of which concerned naught but the honour or the 
dishonour of a miserable Jewish maiden.’ 

^ You do me injustice,’ exclaimed the Templar, fervently ; 
^ I swear to you by the name which I bear — by the cross on 
my bosom — ^by the sword on my side — by the ancient crest of 
my fathers do I swear, I will do thee no injury whatsoever ! 
If not for thyself, yet for thy father’s sake forbear! 
I will be his friend, and in this castle he will need a powerful 
one.’ 

^ Alas ! ’ said Eebecca, ^ I know it but too well. Dare I trust 
thee ? ’ 

‘ May my arms be reversed and my name dishonoured,’ 
said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, ^ if thou shalt have reason to com- 
plain of me ! Many a law, many a commandment have I 
broken, but my word never.’ 

^ I will then trust thee,’ said Eebecca, ‘ thus far ’ ; and she 
descended from the verge of the battlement, but remained 
standing close by one of the embrasures, or machicolles, as 
they were then called. ‘ Here,’ she said, ^ I take my stand. 
Eemain where thou art, and if thou shalt attempt to diminish 
by one step the distance now between us, thou shalt see that 
the Jewish maiden will rather trust her soul with God than 
her honour to the Templar ! ’ 

While Eebecca spoke thus, her high and firm resolve, which 


234 


IVANHOE 


corresponded so well with the expressive beauty of her counte- 
nance, gave to her looks, air, and manner a dignity that 
seemed more than mortal. Her glance quailed not, her cheek 
blanched not, for the fear of a fate so instant and so horrible ; 
on the contrary, the thought that she had her fate at her- 
command, and could escape at will from infamy to death, gave 
a yet deeper colour of carnation to her complexion, and a 
yet more brilliant fire to her eyes. Bois-Guilbert, proud him- 
self and high spirited, thought he had never beheld beauty so 
animated and so commanding. 

^ Let there be peace between us, Eebecca,^ he said. 

^ Peace if thou wilV answered Eebecca — ^ peace ; but with 
this space between.’ 

‘ Thou needst no longer fear me,’ said Bois-Guilbert. 

fear thee not,’ replied she, ^thanks to him that reared 
this dizzy tower so high that nought could fall from it and 
live. Thanks to him, and to the God of Israel! I fear thee 
not.’ 

‘ Thou dost me injustice,’ said the Templar; ‘by earth, sea, 
and sky, thou dost me injustice! I am not naturally that 
which you have seen me — hard, selfish, and relentless. It was 
woman that taught me cruelty, and on woman therefore I have 
exercised it; but not upon such as thou. Hear me, Eebecca. 
Never did knight take lance in his hand with a heart more 
devoted to the lady of his love than Brian de Bois-Guilbert. 
She, the daughter of a petty baron, who boasted for all his 
domains but a ruinous tower and an unproductive vineyard, 
and some few leagues of the barren Landes of Bourdeaux, her 
name was known wherever deeds of arms were done, known 
wider than that of many a lady’s that had a county for a 
dowry. Yes,’ he continued, pacing up and down the little 
platform, with an animation in which he seemed to lose all 
consciousness of Eebecca’s presence — ‘ yes, my deeds, my 
danger, my blood made the name of Adelaide de Montemare 
known from the court of Castile to that of Byzantium. And 
how was I requited ? When I returned with my dear-bought 
honours, purchased by toil and blood, I found her wedded to a 
Gascon squire, whose name was never heard beyond the limits 
of his own paltry domain ! Truly did I love her, and bitterly 
did I revenge me of her broken faith ! But my vengeance has 
recoiled on myself. Since that day I have separated myself 
from life and its ties. My manhood must know no domestic 


IVANHOE 


235 


home, must be soothed by no affectionate wife. My age must 
know no kindly hearth. My grave must be solitary, and no 
offspring must outlive me, to bear the ancient name of Bois- 
Guilbert. At the feet of my superior I have laid down the 
right of self-action — the privilege of independence. The 
Templar, a serf in all but the name, can possess neither lands 
nor goods, and lives, moves, and breathes but at the will and 
pleasure of another.^ 

^ Alas ! ’ said Eebecca, ^ what advantages could compensate 
for such an absolute sacrifice ? ’ 

^ The power of vengeance, Eebecca,’ replied the Templar, 
^ and the prospects of ambition.’ 

^ An evil recompense,’ said Eebecca, ^ for the surrender of 
the rights which are dearest to humanity.’ 

‘ Say not so, maiden,’ answered the Templar ; ^ revenge is a 
feast for the gods ! And if they have reserved it, as priests 
tell us, to themselves, it is because they hold it an enjoj^ment 
too precious for the possession of mere mortals. And ambi- 
tion ! it is a temptation which could disturb even the bliss of 
Heaven itself.’ He paused a moment, and then added, ^ Ee- 
becca ! she who could prefer death to dishonour must have a 
proud and a powerful soul. Mine thou must be ! Hay, start 
not,’ he added, ^it must be with thine own consent, and on 
thine own terms. Thou must consent to share with me hopes 
more extended than can be viewed from the throne of a mon- 
arch! Hear me ere you answer, and judge ere you refuse. 
The Templar loses, as thou hast said, his social rights, his 
power of free agency, but he becomes a member and a limb 
of a mighty body, before which thrones already tremble — 
even at the single drop of rain which mixes with the sea be- 
comes an individual part of that resistless ocean which under- 
mines rocks and ingulphs royal armadas. Such a swelling 
flood is that powerful league. Of this mighty order I am no 
mean member, but already one of the chief commanders, and 
may well aspire one day to hold the batoon of Grand Master. 
The poor soldiers of the Temple will not alone place their foot 
upon the necks of kings ; a hemp-sandall’d monk can do that. 
Our mailed step shall ascend their throne, our gauntlet shall 
wrench the sceptre from their gripe. Hot the reign of your 
vainly-expected Messiah offers such power to your dispersed 
tribes as my ambition may aid at. I have sought but a kin- 
dred spirit to share it, and I have found such in thee.’ 


236 


IVANHOE 


^ Sayest thou this to one of my people ? ^ answered Eebecca. 
‘ Bethink thee ’ 

^ Answer me not/ said the Templar, ^ by urging the differ- 
ence of our creeds; within our secret conclaves we hold these 
nursery tales in derision. Think not we long remained blind 
to the idiotical folly of our founders, who forswore every de- 
light of life for the pleasure of dying martyrs by hunger, by 
thirst, and by pestilence, and by the swords of savages, while 
they vainly strove to defend a barren desert, valuable only in 
the eyes of superstition. Our order soon adopted bolder and 
wider views, and found out a better indemnification for our 
sacrifices. Our immense possessions in every kingdom of 
Europe, our high military fame, which brings within our cir- 
cle the flower of chivalry from every Christian clime — ^these 
are dedicated to ends of which our pious founders little 
dreamed, and which are equally concealed from such weak 
spirits as embrace our order on the ancient principles, and 
whose superstition makes them our passive tools. But I will 
not further withdraw the veil of our mysteries. That bugle- 
sound announces something which may require my presence. 
Think on what I have said. Farewell ! I do not say forgive 
me the violence I have threatened, for it was necessary to the 
display of thy character. Gold can be only known by the ap- 
plication of the touchstone. I will soon return, and hold fur- 
ther conference with thee.^ 

He re-entered the turret-chamber, and descended the stair, 
leaving Eebecca scarcely more terrified at the prospect of the 
death to which she had been so lately exposed, than at the 
furious ambition of the bold bad man in whose power she 
found herself so unhappily placed. When she entered the 
turret-chamber, her first duty was to return thanks to the God 
of Jacob for the protection which He had afforded her, and to 
implore its continuance for her and for her father. Another 
name glided into her petition; it was that of the wounded 
Christian, whom fate had placed in the hands of bloodthirsty 
men, his avowed enemies. Her heart indeed checked her, as 
if, even in communing with the Deity in prayer, she mingled 
in her devotions the recollection of one with whose fate hers 
could have no alliance — a Nazarene, and an enemy to her 
faith. But the petition was already breathed, nor could all 
the narrow prejudices of her sect induce Eebecca to wish it 
recalled. 


IVANHOE 


237 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

This is the last of the group of chapters describing the events that 
take place in the Castle while the rescuers are gathering. Bach chap- 
ter is constructed on very nearly the same scheme, ending with the un- 
expected note of the bugle. 

Has Scott arranged the four scenes so as to lead up to a climax 7 Go 
over them and determine for yourself whether you would change the 
order. 

% 

Compare the scene between Rebecca and Bois Guilbert with that 
between Rowena and De Bracy, contrasting especially the beauty of 
Rowena and Rebecca. 

Does Rebecca at this point become the real heroine 7 

Where is Rebecca confined 7 

Why was she placed so far from her father 7 

Tell the story of Dame Urfried. 

Why has Bois-Guilbert joined the Templars 7 
What ambitious scheme does he outline to Rebecca 7 
Do you think that Scott introduces unnecessary details about the 
Templars 7 


CHAPTER XXV 


A damn’d cramp piece of penmanship as ever I saw in my life ! 

She Stoops to Conquer. 

When the Templar reached the hall of the castle, he found 
He Bracy already there. ^ Your love-suit/ said De Bracy, 
‘ hath, I suppose, been disturbed, like mine, by this obstreper- 
ous summons. But you have come later and more reluctantly, 
and therefore I presume your interview has proved more 
agreeable than mine.^ 

^ Has your suit, then, been unsuccessfully paid to the Saxon 
heiress ? ’ said the Templar. 

^ By the bones of Thomas a Becket,^ answered De Bracy, 
^ the Lady Eowena must have heard that I cannot endure the 
sight of women’s tears.’ 

^ Away ! ’ said the Templar ; ' thou a leader of a Free Com- 
pany, and regard a woman’s tears ! A few drops sprinkled on 
the torch of love make the flame blaze the brighter.’ 

^ Gramercy for the few drops of thy sprinkling,’ replied De 
Bracy; ^but this damsel hath wept enough to extinguish a 
beacon-light. Never was such wringing of hands and such 
overflowing of eyes, since the days of St. Niobe, of whom Prior 
Aymer told us.* A water-flend hath possessed the fair Saxon.’ 

' A legion of flends have occupied the bosom of the Jewess,’ 
replied the Templar ; ^ for I think no single one, not even 
Apollyon himself, could have inspired such indomitable pride 
and resolution. But where is Front-de-Boeuf ? That horn is 
sounded more and more clamorously.’ 

^ He is negotiating with the Jew, I suppose,’ replied De 
Bracy, coolly ; ‘ probably the howls of Isaac have drowned the 
blast of the bugle. Thou mayst know, by experience. Sir 
Brian, that a Jew parting with his treasures on such terms as 

* I wish the Prior had also informed them when Niobe was sainted. 
Probably during that enlightened period when 

Pan to Moses lent his pagan horn. 


L. T. 


IVANHOE 


239 


our friend Front-de-Boeuf is like to offer will raise a clamour 
loud enough to be heard over twenty horns and trumpets to 
boot. But we will make the vassals call him.’ 

They were soon after joined by Front-de-Boeuf, who had 
been disturbed in his tyrannic cruelty in the manner with 
which the reader is acquainted, and had only tarried to give 
some necessary directions. 

^Let us see the cause of this cursed clamour,’ said Front- 
de-Boeuf ; ^ here is a letter, and, if I mistake not, it is in 
Saxon.’ 

He looked at it, turning it round and round as if he had 
had really some hopes of coming at the meaning by inverting 
the position of the paper, and then handed it to De Bracy. 

^ It may be magic spells for aught I know,’ said De Bracy, 
who possessed his full proportion of the ignorance which char- 
acterised the chivalry of the period. ^ Our chaplain attempted 
to teach me to write,’ he said, ^ but all my letters were formed 
like spear-heads and sword-blades, and so the old shaveling 
gave up the task.’ 

^ Give it me,’ said the Templar. ^ We have that of the 
priestly character, that we have some knowledge to enlighten 
our valour.’ 

^ Let us profit by your most reverend knowledge, then,’ said 
De Bracy ; ^ what says the scroll ? ’ 

^ It is a formal letter of defiance,’ answered the Templar ; 
‘ but, by our Lady of Bethlehem, if it be not a foolish jest, it 
is the most extraordinary cartel that ever was sent across the 
drawbridge of a baronial castle.’ 

‘ Jest ! ’ said Front-de-Boeuf, ‘ I would gladly know who 
dares jest with me in such a matter ! Bead it. Sir Brian.’ 

The Templar accordingly read it as follows : — 

^ I, Wamba, the son of Witless, jester to a noble and free- 
born man, Cedric of Eotherwood, called the Saxon: and I, 
Gurth, the son of Beowulph, the swineherd ’ 

^Thou art mad, said Front-de-Boeuf, interrupting the 
reader. 

^By St. Luke, it is so set down,’ answered the Templar. 
Then resuming his task, he went on — " I, Gurth, the son of 
Beowulph, swineherd unto the said Cedric, with the assistance 
of our allies and confederates, who make common cause with 
us in this our feud, namely, the good knight, called for the 
present Le Noir Faineant, and the stout yeoman, Eobert 


240 


IVANHOE 


Locksley, called Cleave-the-Wand, do you, Eeginald Front-de- 
Boeuf, and your allies and accomplices whomsoever, to wit, 
that whereas you have, without cause given or feud declared, 
wrongfully and by mastery seized upon the person of our lord 
and master the said Cedric; also upon the person of a noble 
and freeborn damsel, the Lady Eowena of Hargottstandstede ; 
also upon the person of a noble and freeborn man, Athelstane 
of Coningsburgh ; also upon the persons of certain freeborn 
men, their cnichts; also upon certain serfs, their born bonds- 
men; also upon a certain Jew, named Isaac of York, together 
with his daughter, a Jewess, and certain horses and mules: 
which noble persons, with their cnichts and slaves, and also 
with the horses and mules, Jew and Jewess beforesaid, were 
all in peace with his Majesty, and travelling as liege subjects 
upon the king’s highway; therefore we require and demand 
that the said noble persons, namely, Cedric of Eotherwood, 
Eowena of Hargottstandstede, Athelstane of Coningsburgh, 
with their servants, cnichts, and followers, also the horses and 
mules, Jew and Jewess aforesaid, together with all goods and 
chattels to them pertaining, be, within an hour after the de- 
livery hereof, delivered to us, or to those whom we shall ap- 
point to receive the same, and that untouched and unharmed 
in body and goods. Failing of which, we do pronounce to you, 
that we hold ye as robbers and traitors, and will wager our 
bodies against ye in battle, siege, or otherwise, and do our ut- 
most to your annoyance and destruction. Wherefore may 
God have you in His keeping. Signed by us upon the eve of 
St. Withold’s day, under the great trysting oak in the Harthill 
Walk, the above being written by a holy man, clerk to God, 
our Lady, and St. Dunstan, in the chapel of Copmanhurst.’ 

At the bottom of this document was scrawled, in the first 
place, a rude sketch of a cock’s head and comb, with a legend 
expressing this hieroglyphic to be the sign-manual of Wamba, 
son if Witless. Under this respectable emblem stood a cross, 
stated to be the mark of Gurth, the son of Beowulph. Then 
was written, in rough bold characters, the words Le Noir 
Faineant. And, to conclude the whole, an arrow, neatly 
enough drawn, was described as the mark of the yeoman 
Locksley. 

The knights heard this uncommon document read from 
end to end, and then gazed upon each other in silent amaze- 
ment, as being utterly at a loss to know what it could portend. 


IVANHOE 


241 


De Bracy was the first to break silence by an uncontrollable 
fit of laughter, wherein he was joined, though with more 
moderation, by the Templar. Front-de-Boeuf, on the con- 
trary, seemed impatient of their ill-timed jocularity. 

^ I give you plain warning,’ he said, ^ fair sirs, that you had 
better consult how to bear yourselves under these circum- 
stances, than give way to such misplaced merriment.’ 

‘ Front-de-Boeuf has not recovered his temper since his late 
overthrow,’ said De Bracy to the Templar; ^he is cowed at 
the very idea of a cartel, though it come but from a fool and a 
swineherd.’ 

‘ By St. Michael,’ answered Front-de-Boeuf, ‘ I would thou 
couldst stand the whole brunt of this adventure thyself, De 
Bracy. These fellows dared not have acted with such incon- 
ceivable impudence, had they not been supported by some 
strong bands. There are enough of outlaws in this forest to 
resent my protecting the deer. I did but tie one fellow, who 
was taken red-handed and in the fact, to the horns of a wild 
stag, which gored him to death in five minutes, and I had as 
many arrows shot at me as there were launched against yonder 
target at Ashby. Here, fellow, he added, to one of his attend- 
ants, ‘hast thou sent out to see by what force this precious 
challenge is to be supported?’ 

‘ There are at least two hundred men assembled in the 
woods,’ answered a squire who was in attendance. 

‘ Here is a proper matter ! ’ said Front-de-Boeuf ; ‘ this 
comes of lending you the use of my castle, that cannot manage 
your undertaking quietly, but you must bring this nest of 
hornets about my ears ! ’ 

‘ Of hornets ! ’ said De Bracy, ‘ of stingless drones rather ; 
a band of lazy knaves, who take to the wood and destroy the 
venison rather than labour for their maintenance.’ 

‘ Stingless ! ’ replied Front-de-Boeuf ; ‘ fork-headed shafts of 
a cloth-yard in length, and these shot within the breadth of a 
French crown, are sting enough.’ 

‘ For shame. Sir Knight ! ’ said the Templar. ‘ Let us 
summon our people and sally forth upon them. One knight 
— ay, one man-at-arms, were enough for twenty such peas- 
ants.’ 

‘ Enough, and too much,’ said De Bracy ; ‘ I should only be 
ashamed to couch lance against them.’ 

‘ True,’ answered Front-de-Boeuf ; ‘ were they black Turks 


242 


IVANHOE 


or Moors, Sir Templar, or the craven peasants of France, most 
valiant De Bracy; but these are English yeomen, over whom 
we shall have no advantage, save what we may derive from our 
arms and horses, which will avail us little in the glades of the 
forest. Sally, saidst thou? We have scarce men enough to 
defend the castle. The best of mine are at York; so is all 
your band, De Bracy; and we have scarcely twenty, besides 
the handful that were engaged in this mad business.^ 

^ Thou dost not fear,^ said the Templar, ‘ that they can 
assemble in force sufficient to attempt the castle ? ^ 

^ Not so. Sir Brian,’ answered Front-de-Boeuf. ^ These out- 
laws have indeed a daring captain; but without machines, 
scaling ladders, and experienced leaders, my castle may defy 

them. ’ 

^ Send to thy neighbours,’ said the Templar ; ^ let them 
assemble their people and come to the rescue of three knights, 
besieged by a jester and a swineherd in the baronial castle of 
Reginald Front-de-Boeuf ! ’ 

‘ You jest. Sir Knight,’ answered the baron ; ^ but to whom 
should I send? Malvoisin is by this time at York with his 
retainers, and so are my other allies; and so should I have 
been, but for this infernal enterprise.’ 

^ Then send to York and recall our people,’ said De Bracy. 

^ If they abide the shaking of my standard, or the sight of my 
Free Companions, I will give them credit for the boldest out- 
laws ever bent bow in greenwood.’ 

^ And who shall bear such a message ? ’ said Front-de-Boeuf ; 
^they will beset every path, and rip the errand out of his 
bosom. I have it,’ he added, after pausing for a moment. Sir 
Templar, thou canst write as well as read, and if we can but 
find the writing materials of my chaplain, who died a twelve- 
month since in the midst of his Christmas carousals ’ 

^ So please ye,’ said the squire, who was still in attendance, 
^ I think old Urfried has them somewhere in keeping, for love 
of the confessor. He was the last man, I have heard her tell, 
who ever said aught to her which man ought in courtesy to 
address to maid or matron.’ 

‘ Go search them out, Engelred,’ said Front-de-Boeuf ; ^ and 

then, Sir Templar, thou shalt return an answer to this bold 
challenge.’ 

^ I would rather do it at the sword’s point than at that of 
the pen,’ said Bois-Guilbert ; ‘ but be it as you will.’ 


IVANHOE 


243 


He sat down accordingly, and indicted, in the French lan- 
guage, an epistle of the following tenor: — 

‘ Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, with his noble and knightly 
allies and confederates, receive no defiances at the hands of 
slaves, bondsmen, or fugitives. If the person calling himself 
the Black Knight have indeed a claim to the honours of chiv- 
alry, he ought to know that he stands degraded by his present 
association, and has no right to ask reckoning at the hands of 
good men of noble blood. Touching the prisoners we have 
made, we do in Christian charity require you to send a man of 
religion to receive their confession and reconcile them with 
God ; since it is our fixed intention to execute them this morn- 
ing before noon, so that their heads, being placed on the bat- 
tlements, shall show to all men how lightly we esteem those 
who have bestirred themselves in their rescue. Wherefore, as 
above, we require you to send a priest to reconcile them to God, 
in doing which you shall render them the last earthly service.’ 

This letter, being folded, was delivered to the squire, and by 
him to the messenger who waited without, as the answer to 
that which he had brought. 

The yeoman, having thus accomplished his mission, re- 
turned to the headquarters of the allies, which were for the 
present established under a venerable oak-tree, about three 
arrow-flights distance from the castle. Here Wamba and 
Gurth, with their allies, the Black Knight and Locksley, and 
the jovial hermit, awaited with impatience an answer to their 
summons. Around, and at a distance from them, were seen 
many a bold yeoman, whose silvan dress and weather-beaten 
countenances showed the ordinary nature of their occupation. 
More than two hundred had already assembled, and others 
were fast coming in. Those whom they obeyed as leaders were 
only distinguished from the others by a feather in the cap, 
their dress, arms, and equipments being in all other respects 
the same. 

Besides these bands, a less orderly and a worse-armed force, 
consisting of the Saxon inhabitants of the neighbouring town- 
ship, as well as many bondsmen and servants from Cedric’s 
extensive estate, had already arrived, for the purpose of assist- 
ing in his rescue. Few of these were armed otherwise than 
with such rustic weapons as necessity sometimes converts to 
military purposes. Boar-spears, scythes, flails, and the like, 
were their chief arms; for the Normans, with the usual policy 


244 


IVANHOE 


of conquerors, were jealous of permitting to the vanquished 
Saxons the possession or the use of swords and spears. These 
circumstances rendered the assistance of the Saxons far from 
being so formidable to the besieged as the strength of the men 
themselves, their superior numbers, and the animation in* 
spired by a just cause, might otherwise well have made them. 
It was to the leaders of this motley army that the letter of the 
Templar was now delivered. 

Eeference was at first made to the chaplain for an exposi- 
tion of its contents. 

^ By the crook of St. Dunstan,’ said that worthy ecclesiastic, 
^ which hath brought more sheep within the sheepfold than the 
crook of e’er another saint in Paradise, I swear that I cannot 
expound unto you this jargon, which, whether it be French or 
Arabic, is beyond my guess.’ 

He then gave the letter to Gurth, who shook his head 
gruffly, and passed it to Wamba. The Jester looked at each of 
the four corners of the paper with such a grin of affected 
intelligence as a monkey is apt to assume upon similar occa- 
sions, then cut a caper, ajid gave the letter to Locksley. 

^ If the long letters were bows, and the short letters broad 
arrows, I might know something of the matter,’ said the brave 
yeoman; ^ but as the matter stands, the meaning is as safe, for 
me, as the stag that’s at twelve miles’ distance.’ 

' I must be clerk, then,’ said the Black Knight ; and taking 
the letter from Locksley, he first read it over to himself, and 
then explained the meaning in Saxon to his confederates. 

^Execute the noble Cedric!’ exclaimed Wamba; ^ by the 
rood, thou must be mistaken. Sir Knight.’ 

^Kot I, my worthy friend,’ replied the knight, ^ I have 
explained the words as they are here set down.’ 

‘ Then, by St. Thomas of Canterbury,’ replied Gurth, ^ we 
will have the castle, should we tear it down with our hands ! ’ 

^We have nothing else to tear it with,’ replied Wamba; 
^ but mine are scarce fit to make mammocks of freestone and 
mortar.’ 

^ ’Tis but a contrivance to gain time,’ said Locksley ; ^ they 
dare not do a deed for which I could exact a fearful pen- 
alty.’ 

^I would,’ said the Black Knight, ^ there were some one 
among us who could obtain admission into the castle, and dis- 
cover how the case stands with the besieged. Methinks as 


IVANHOE 


245 


they require a confessor to be sent, this holy hermit might at 
once exercise his pious vocation and procure us the informa- 
tion we desire/ 

‘ A plague on thee and thy advice ! ^ said the pious hermit ; 
^ I tell thee, Sir Slothful Knight, that when I doff my friar’s 
frock, my priesthood, my sanctity, my very Latin, are put off 
along with it; and when in my green jerkin I can better kill 
twenty deer than confess one Christian/ 

^ I fear,’ said the Black Knight — ^ I fear greatly there is no 
one here that is qualified to tak^e upon him, for the nonce, this 
same character of father confessor ? ’ 

All looked on each other, and were silent. 

see,’ said Wamba, after a short pause, Hhat the fool 
must be still the fool, and put his neck in the venture which 
wise men shrink from. You must know, my dear cousins and 
countrymen, that I wore russet before I wore motley, and was 
bred to be a friar, until a brain-fever came upon me and left 
me just wit enough to be a fool. I trust, with the assistance 
of the good hermit’s frock, together with the priesthood, 
sanctity, and learning which are stitched into the cowl of it, 
I shall be found qualified to administer both worldly and 
ghostly comfort to our worthy master Cedric and his com- 
panions in adversity.’ 

‘ Hath he sense enough, thinkst thou ? ’ said the Black 
Knight, addressing Gurth. 

^ I know not,’ said Gurth ; ‘ but if he hath not, it will be the 
first time he hath wanted wit to turn his folly to account.’ 

^ On with the frock, then, good fellow,’ quoth the Knight, 
^ and let thy master send us an account of their situation 
within the castle. Their numbers must be few, and it is five 
to one they may be accessible by a sudden and bold attack. 
Time wears — away with thee.’ 

^And, in the meantime,’ said Locksley, ^we will beset the 
place so closely that not so much as a % shall carry news 
from thence. So that, my good friend,’ he continued, address- 
ing Wamba, ^thou mayst assure these tyrants that whatever 
violence they exercise on the persons of their prisoners shall be 
most severely repaid upon their own.’ 

^ Pax voliscum/ said Wamba, who was now muffled in his 
religious disguise. 

And so saying, he imitated the solemn and stately deport- 
ment of a friar, and departed to execute his mission. 


246 


IVANHOE 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

The scene shifts to the great hall of the Castle, where appear the Nor- 
man leaders. A squire hands to Front-de-Boeuf the defiance of Wamba 
and Gurth. 

Who reads the letter ? And why ? 

Was the letter intended as an insult 7 

Who wrote it ?— Notice the various signatures. 

With what emotions is the letter received by each of the Norman 
leaders ? 

What does Front-de-Boeuf mean by shifting the blame of the ill- 
managed enterprise upon his companions ? 

Why should not Bois-Guilbert and De Bracy understand the serious- 
ness of the situation ? 

Who compose the allies ? 

Where are they assembled 7 

And how are they armed 7 

Who writes the reply to the challenge of the allies 7 

How is it conveyed to them 7 

What advantage is taken of a clause that it contains 7 

Observe how skilfully Scott has brought together nearly all of his 
characters in one place— either within or without the Castle. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


The hottest horse will oft he cool, 

The dullest will show fire ; 

The friar will often play the fool, 

The fool will play the friar. 

Old Song. 

When" the Jester, arrayed in the cowl and frock of the hermit, 
and having his knotted cord twisted round his middle, stood 
before the portal of the castle of Front-de-Boeuf, the warder 
demanded of him his name and errand. 

'Pax vohiscum/ answered the Jester, ^ I am a poor brother 
of the Order of St. Francis, who come hither to do my office to 
certain unhappy prisoners now secured within this castle.’ 

^ Thou art a bold friar,’ said the warder, ^ to come hither, 
where, saving our own drunken confessor, a cock of thy feather 
hath not crowed these twenty years.’ 

^ Yet I pray thee, do mine errand to the lord of the castle,’ 
answered the pretended friar; ^ trust me, it will find good 
acceptance with him, and the cock shall crow, that the whole 
castle shall hear him. 

^ Gramercy,’ said the warder ; ^ but if I come to shame for 
leaving my post upon thine errand, I will try whether a friar’s 
grey gown be proof against a grey-goose shaft.’ 

With this threat he left his turret, and carried to the hall 
of the castle his unwonted intelligence, that a holy friar stood 
before the gate and demanded instant admission. With no 
small wonder he received his master’s commands to admit the 
holy man immediately; and, having previously manned the 
entrance to guard against surprise, he obeyed, without further 
scruple, the commands which he had received. The hare- 
brained self-conceit which had emboldened Wamba to under- 
take this dangerous office was scarce sufficient to support him 
when he found himself in the presence of a man so dreadful, 
and so much dreaded, as Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, and he 
brought out his '' Pax vohiscum/ to which he, in a good meas- 
ure, trusted for supporting his character, with more anxiety 

247 


248 


IVANHOE 


and hesitation than had hitherto accompanied it. But Front- 
de-Boeuf was accustomed to see men of all ranks tremble in 
his presence, so that the timidity of the supposed father did 
not give him any cause of suspicion. ^ Who and whence art 
thou, priest ? ’ said he. 

'Pax vohiscum/ reiterated the Jester, ^ I am a poor servant 
of St. Francis, who, travelling through this wilderness, have 
fallen among thieves as Scripture hath it — quidam viator 
incidit in latrones — which thieves have sent me unto this 
castle in order to do my ghostly office on two persons con- 
demned by your honourable justice.^ 

^ Ay, right,’ answered Front-de-Boeuf ; ^ and canst thou tell 
me, holy father, the number of those banditti ? ’ 

^ Gallant sir,’ answered the Jester, ^ nomen illis legio — their 
name is legion.’ 

^ Tell me in plain terms what numbers there are, or, priest, 
thy cloak and cord will ill protect thee.’ 

^ Alas ! ’ said the supposed friar, ' cor meum eructavit, that 
is to say, I was like to burst with fear ! but I conceive they may 
be, what of yeomen, what of commons, at least five hundred 
men.’ 

‘ What ! ’ said the Templar, who came into the hall that 
moment, ^ muster the wasps so thick here ? It is time to stifie 
such a mischievous brood.’ Then taking Front-de-Boeuf aside, 
^ Knowest thou the priest ? ’ 

^ He is a stranger from a distant convent,’ said Front-de- 
Boeuf ; ^ I know him not.’ 

^ Then trust him not with thy purpose in words,’ answered 
the Templar. ^ Let hiip carry a written order to De Bracy’s 
company of Free Companions, to repair instantly to their 
master’s aid. In the meantime, and that the shaveling may 
suspect nothing, permit him to go freely about his task of 
preparing these Saxon hogs for the slaughter-house.’ 

‘It shall be so,’ said Front-de-Boeuf. And he forthwith 
appointed a domestic to conduct Wamba to the apartment 
where Cedric and Athelstane were confined. 

The impatience of Cedric had been rather enhanced than 
diminished by his confinement. He walked from one end of 
the hall to the other, with the attitude of one who advances 
to charge an enemy, or to storm the breach of a beleaguered 
place, sometimes ejaculating to himself, sometimes addressing 
Athelstane, who stoutly and stoically awaited the issue of the 


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249 


adventure, digesting, in the meantime, with great composure, 
the liberal meal which he had made at noon, and not greatly 
interesting himself about the duration of his captivity, which 
he concluded would, like all earthly evils, find an end in 
Heaven’s good time. 

* Pax vobiscum/ said the Jester, entering the apartment; 
" the blessing of St. Dunstan, St. Denis, St. Duthoc, and all 
other saints whatsoever, be upon ye and about ye.’ 

^ Enter freely,’ answered Cedric to the supposed friar ; ^ with 
what intent art thou come hither ? ’ 

"To bid you prepare yourselves for death,’ answered the 
Jester. 

" It is impossible ! ’ replied Cedric, starting. " Fearless and 
wicked as they are, they dare not attempt such open and 
gratuitous cruelty ! ’ 

" Alas ! ’ said the J ester, " to restrain them by their sense of 
humanity is the same as to stop a runaway horse with a bridle 
of silk thread. Bethink thee, therefore, noble Cedric, and you 
also, gallant Athelstane, what crimes you have committed in 
the fiesh; for this very day will ye be called to answer at a 
higher tribunal.’ 

"Hearest thou this, Athelstane?’ said Cedric. "We must 
rouse up our hearts to this last action, since better it is we 
should die like men than live like slaves.’ 

" I am ready,’ answered Athelstane, " to stand the worst of 
their malice, and shall walk to my death with as much com- 
posure as ever I did to my dinner.’ 

" Let us then unto our holy gear, father,’ said Cedric. 

" Wait yet a moment, good uncle,’ said the Jester, in his 
natural tone ; " better look long before you leap in the dark.’ 

" By my faith,’ said Cedric, " I should know that voice ! ’ 

" It is that of your trusty slave and Jester,’ answered Wamba, 
throwing back his cowl. " Had you taken a fool’s advice 
formerly, you would not have been here at all. Take a fool’s 
advice now, and you will not be here long.’ 

" How mean’s! thou, knave ? ’ answered the Saxon. 

"Even thus,’ replied Wamba; "take thou this frock and 
cord, which are all the orders I ever had, and march quietly 
out of the castle, leaving me your cloak and girdle to take the 
long leap in thy stead.’ 

" Leave thee in my stead ! ’ said Cedric, astonished at the 
proposal ; " why, they would hang thee, my poor knave.’ 


250 


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‘ E^en let them do as they are permitted/ said Wamba; 
trust — no disparagement to your birth — that the son of Wit- 
less may hang in a chain with as much gravity as the chain 
hung upon his ancestor the alderman/ 

‘ Well, Wamba/ answered Cedric, ^ for one thing will I 
grant thy request. And that is, if thou wilt make the ex- 
change of garments with Lord Athelstane instead of me.^ 

^ No, by St. Dunstan/ answered Wamba; Hhere were little 
reason in that. Good right there is that the son of Witless 
should suffer to save the son of Hereward; but little wisdom 
there were in his dying for the benefit of one whose fathers 
were strangers to his.’ 

^ Villain/ said Cedric, ^ the fathers of Athelstane were 
monarchs of England ! ’ 

^ They might be whomsoever they pleased/ replied Wamba ; 
^ but my neck stands too straight upon my shoulders to have 
it twisted for their sake. Wherefore, good my master, either 
take my proffer yourself or suffer me to leave this dungeon as 
free as I entered.’ 

^ Let the old tree wither,’ continued Cedric, ^ so the stately 
hope of the forest be preserved. Save the noble Athelstane, 
my trusty Wamba ! it is the duty of each who has Saxon blood 
in his veins. Thou and I will abide together the utmost rage 
of our injurious oppressors, while he, free and safe, shall 
arouse the awakened spirits of our countrymen to avenge us.’ 

^ Not so, father Cedric/ said Athelstane, grasping his hand, 
for, when roused to think or act, his deeds and sentiments 
were not unbecoming his high race — ' not so/ he continued ; ^ I 
would rather remain in this hall a week without food save 
the prisoner’s stinted lohf, or drink save the prisoner’s measure 
of water, than embrace the opportunity to escape which the 
slave’s untaught kindness has purveyed for his master.’ 

^ You are called wise men, sirs/ said the Jester, ^ and I a 
crazed fool ; but, uncle Cedric and cousin Athelstane, the fool 
shall decide this controversy for ye, and save ye the trouble of 
straining courtesies any farther. I am like John-a-Duck’s 
mare, that will let no man mount her but John-a-Duck. I 
came to save my master, and if he will not consent, basta ! I 
can but go away home again. Kind service cannot be chucked 
from hand to hand like a shuttlecock or a stool-ball. I’ll hang 
for no man but own born master.’ 

^ Go, then, noble Cedric/ said Athelstane, ^ neglect not this 


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251 


opportunity. Your presence without may encourage friends 
to our rescue ; your remaining here would ruin us all.^ 

" And is there any prospect, then, of rescue from without ? ’ 
said Cedric, looking to the Jester. 

^ Prospect, indeed ! ^ echoed Wamha ; ^ let me tell you, when 
you fill my cloak, you are wrapped in a general’s cassock. 
Five hundred men are there without, and I was this morning 
one of their chief leaders. My fool’s cap was a casque, and my 
bauble a truncheon. Well, we shall see what good they will 
make by exchanging a fool for a wise man. Truly, I fear 
they will lose in valour what they may gain in discretion. 
And so farewell, master, and be kind to poor Gurth and his 
dog Fangs; and let my cockscomb hang in the hall at Eother- 
wood, in memory that I fiung away my life for my master, 
like a faithful — fool.’ The last word came out with a sort of 
double expression, betwixt jest and earnest. 

The tears stood in Cedric’s eyes. ^ Thy memory shall be 
preserved,’ he said, ^ while fidelity and affection have honour 
upon earth ! But that I trust I shall find the means of saving 
Rowena, and thee, Athelstane, and thee also, my poor Wamha, 
thou shouldst not overbear me in this matter.’ 

The exchange of dress was now accomplished, when a sud- 
den doubt struck Cedric. 

know no language,’ he said, ^but my own, and a few 
words of their mincing Norman. How shall I bear myself 
like a reverend brother ? ’ 

^ The spell lies in two words,’ replied Wamha. '' Pax vobis^ 
cum will answer all queries. If you go or come, eat or drink, 
bless or ban, Pax vohiscum carries you through it all. It is as 
useful to a friar as a broomstick to a witch, or a wand to a 
conjurer. Speak it but thus, in a deep grave tone — Pax 
vobiscum — it is irresistible. Watch and ward, knight and 
squire, foot and horse, it acts as a charm upon them all. I 
think, if they bring me out to be hanged to-morrow, as is much 
to be doubted they may, I will try its weight upon the finisher 
of the sentence.’ 

^ If such prove the case,’ said his master, ^ my religious 
orders are soon taken — Pax vobiscum. I trust I shall remem- 
ber the password. Noble Athelstane, farewell; and farewell, 
my poor boy, whose heart might make amends for a weaker 
head ; I will save you, or return and die with you. The royal 
blood of our Saxon kings shall not be spilt while mine beats 


252 


IVANHOE 


in my veins ; nor shall one hair fall from the head of the kind 
knave who risked himself for his master, if Cedric’s peril can 
prevent it. Farewell.’ 

^ Farewell, noble Cedric,’ said Athelstane ; ^ remember, it is 
the true part of a friar to accept refreshment, if you are 
offered any.’ 

^Farewell, uncle,’ added Wamba; ^and remember Pax vo- 
biscum* 

Thus exhorted, Cedric sallied forth upon his expedition; 
and it was not long ere he had occasion to try the force of that 
spell which his Jester had recommended as omnipotent. In a 
low-arched and dusky passage, by which he endeavoured to 
work his way to the hall of the castle, he was interrupted by a 
female form. 

Pax vohiscum / ’ said the pseudo friar, and was endeavour- 
ing to hurry past, when a soft voice replied, ^ Et vobisj quceso, 
domine reverendissime, pro misericordia vestraf 

^ I am somewhat deaf,’ replied Cedric, in good Saxon, and 
at the same time muttered to himself, ^ A curse on the fool 
and his Pax vohiscum ! I have lost my javelin at the first 
cast.’ 

It was, however, no unusual thing for a priest of those days 
to be deaf of his Latin ear, and this the person who now ad- 
dressed Cedric knew full well. 

^ I pray you of dear love, reverend father,’ she replied in his 
own language, ^ that you will deign to visit with your ghostly 
comfort a wounded prisoner of this castle, and have such com- 
passion upon him and us as thy holy office teaches. Never 
shall good deed so highly advantage thy convent.’ 

‘ Daughter,’ answered Dedric, much embarrassed, ^ my time 
in this castle will not permit me to exercise the duties of mine 
office. I must presently forth: there is life and death upon 
my speed.’ 

‘ Yet, father, let me entreat you by the vow you have taken 
on you,’ replied the suppliant, ^ not to leave the oppressed and 
endangered without counsel or succor.’ 

‘ May the fiend fly away with me, and leave me in If rin with 
the souls of Odin and of Thor ! ’ answered Cedric, impatiently, 
and would probably have proceeded in the same tone of total 
departure from his spiritual character, when the colloquy was 
interrupted by the harsh voice of Urfried, the old crone of the 
turret.’ 


IVANHOE 


253 


^ How, minion/ said she to the female speaker, ^ is this the 
manner in which you requite the kindness which permitted 
thee to leave thy prison-cell yonder? Puttest thou the rev- 
erend man to use ungracious language to free himself from the 
importunities of a Jewess ? ^ 

‘ A J ewess ! ’ said- Cedric, availing himself of the informa- 
tion to get clear of their interruption. ^ Let me pass, woman ! 
stop me not at your peril. I am fresh from my holy office, 
and would avoid pollution.’ 

^ Come this way, father,’ said the old hag, ^ thou art a 
stranger in this castle, and canst not leave it without a guide. 
Come hither, for I would speak with thee. And you, daughter 
of an accursed race, go to the sick man’s chamber, and tend 
him until my return ; and woe betide you if you again quit it 
without my permission ! ’ 

Rebecca retreated. Her importunities had prevailed upon 
Ur fried to suffer her to quit the turret, and Urfried had em- 
ployed her services where she herself would most gladly have 
paid them, by the bedside of the wounded Ivanhoe. With an 
understanding awake to their dangerous situation, and prompt 
to avail herself of each means of safety which occurred, Re- 
becca had hoped something from the presence of a man of 
religion, who, she learned from Urfried, had penetrated into 
this godless castle. She watched the return of the supposed 
ecclesiastic, with the purpose of addressing him, and interest- 
ing him in favour of the prisoners ; with what imperfect suc- 
cess the reader has been just acquainted. 

COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

Wherein lies the interest of this scene 7 

Is the scene comic ? 

It should be noticed that Scott now unfolds sublime qualities in the 
character of Wamba just as he had done earlier in the case of Gurth. 

Does he also increase our respect for Cedric and Athelstane ? 

How happens it that Wamba knows a few Datin phrases? 

Why is Rebecca so anxious to have the pseudo-prior visit the wounded 
prisoner ? 

Observe the dramatic irony in making Cedric refuse to visit his son. 

Is the information contained in the last paragraph out of place 7 


CHAPTEK XXVII 


Fond wretch ! and what canst thou relate, 

But deeds of sorrow, shame, and sin ? 

Thy deeds are proved— thou know’st thy fate ; 

But come, thy tale ! begin— begin. 

But I have griefs of other kind, 

Troubles and sorrows more severe ; 

Give me to ease my tortured mind. 

Lend to my woes a patient ear ; 

And let me, if I may not find 
A friend to help, find one to hear. 

Crabbe’s Hall of Justice. 

When Urfried had with clamours and menaces driven Ee- 
becca back to the apartment from which she had sallied, she 
proceeded to conduct the unwilling Cedric into a small apart- 
ment, the door of which she heedfully secured. Then fetching 
from a cupboard a stoup of wine and two flagons, she placed 
them on the table, and said in a tone rather asserting a fact 
than asking a question, ^ Thou art Saxon, father. Deny it 
not,’ she continued, observing that Cedric hastened not to 
reply; ^the sounds of my native language are sweet to mine 
ears, though seldom heard save from the tongues of the 
wretched and degraded serfs on whom the proud Normans im- 
pose the meanest drudgery of this dwelling. Thou art a 
Saxon, father — a Saxon, and, save as thou art a servant of 
God, a freeman. Thine accents are sweet in mine ear.’ 

^ Do not Saxon priests visit this castle, then ? ’ replied 
Cedric ; ^ it were, methinks, their duty to comfort the outcast 
and oppressed children of the soil.’ 

^ They come not ; or if they come, they better love to revel at 
the boards of their conquerors,’ answered Urfried, ‘than to 
hear the groans of their countrymen ; so, at least, report speaks 
of them, of myself I can say little. This castle, for ten years, 
has opened to no priest save the debauched Norman chaplain 
who partook the nightly revels of Front-de-Bceuf, and he has 
been long gone to render an account of his stewardship. But 
thou art a Saxon — a Saxon priest, and I have one question to 
ask of thee.’ 


254 


IVANHOE 


> 255 


‘ I am a Saxon/ answered Cedric, ‘ but unworthy, surely, of 
the name of priest. Let me begone on my way. I swear I 
will return, or send one of our fathers more worthy to hear 
your confession.’ 

‘ Stay yet a while/ said Urfried ; ^ the accents of the voice 
which thou hearest now will soon be choked with the cold 
earth, and I would not descend to it like the beast I have lived. 
But wine must give me strength to tell the horrors of my tale.’ 
She poured out a cup, and drank it with a frightful avidity, 
which seemed desirous of draining the last drop in the goblet. 
^ It stupefies/ she said, looking upwards as she finished her 
draught, ^ but it cannot cheer. Partake it, father, if you would 
hear my tale without sinking down upon the pavement.’ 
Cedric would have avoided pledging her in this ominous con- 
viviality, but the sign which she made to him expressed im- 
patience and despair. He complied with her request, and 
answered her challenge in a large wine-cup; she then pro- 
ceeded with her story, as if appeased by his complaisance. 

‘ I was not born/ she said, ^ father, the wretch that thou now 
seest me. I was free, was happy, was honoured, loved, and was 
beloved. I am now a slave, miserable and degraded, the sport 
of my masters’ passions while I had yet beauty, the object of 
their contempt, scorn, and hatred, since it has passed away. 
Dost thou wonder, father, that I should hate mankind, and, 
above all, the race that has wrought this change in me ? Can 
the wrinkled decrepit hag before thee, whose wrath must vent 
itself in impotent curses, forget she was once the daughter of 
the noble thane of Torquilstone, before whose frown a thou- 
sand vassals trembled.’ 

‘ Thou the daughter of Torquil Wolf ganger ! ’ said Cedric, 
receding as he spoke; ‘thou — thou — the daughter of that 
noble Saxon, my father’s friend and companion in arms ! ’ 

‘ Thy father’s friend ! ’ echoed Urfried ; ‘ then Cedric called 
the Saxon stands before me, for the noble Hereward of Eoth- 
erwood had but one son, whose name is well known among 
his countrymen. But if thou art Cedric of Eotherwood, why 
this religious dress? hast thou too despaired of saving thy 
country, and sought refuge from oppression in the shade of 
the convent?’ 

‘ It matters not who I am/ said Cedric ; ‘ proceed, unhappy 
woman, with thy tale of horror and guilt ! Guilt there must 
be ; there is guilt even in thy living to tell it.’ 


256 


IVANHOE 


‘ There is — there is/ answered the wretched woman, ^ deep, 
black, damning guilt — guilt that lies like a load at my breast 
— guilt that all the penitential fires of hereafter cannot 
cleanse. Yes, in these halls, stained with the noble and pure 
blood of my father and my brethren — in these very halls, to 
have lived the paramour of their murderer, the slave at once 
and the partaker of his pleasures, was to render every breath 
which I drew of vital air a crime and a curse.’ 

‘ Wretched woman ! ’ exclaimed Cedric. ^ And while the 
friends of thy father — while each true Saxon heart, as it 
breathed a requiem for his soul, and those of his valiant sons, 
forgot not in their prayers the murdered Ulrica — while all 
mourned and honoured the dead, thou hast lived to merit our 
hate and execration — lived to unite thyself with the vile 
tyrant who murdered thy nearest and dearest, who shed the 
blood of infancy rather than a male of the noble house of 
Torquil Wolf ganger should survive — with him hast thou lived 
to unite thyself, and in the bands of lawless love ! ’ 

^ In lawless bands, indeed, but not in those of love ! ’ an- 
swered the hag ; ^ love will sooner visit the regions of eternal 
doom than those unhallowed vaults. No ; with that at least, I 
cannot reproach myself : hatred to Front-de-Bceuf and his race 
governed my soul most deeply, even in the hour of his guilty 
endearments.’ 

"You hated him, and yet you lived,’ replied Cedric; 
" wretch ! was there no poniard — no knife — no bodkin ! Well 
was it for thee, since thou didst prize such an existence, that 
the secrets of a Norman castle are like those of the grave. 
For had I but dreamed of the daughter of Torquil living iii 
foul communion with the murderer of her father, the sword 
of a true Saxon had found thee out even in the arms of thy 
paramour ! ’ 

" Wouldst thou indeed have done this justice to the name of 
Torquil? said Ulrica, for we may now lay aside her assumed 
name of Urfried ; " thou art then the true Saxon report speaks 
thee ! for even within these accursed walls, where, as thou well 
sayest, guilt shrouds itself in inscrutable mystery— even there 
has the name of Cedric been sounded; and I, wretched and 
degraded, have rejoiced to think that there yet breathed an 
avenger of our unhappy nation. I also have had my hours of 
vengeance. I have fomented the quarrels of our foes and 
heated drunken revelry into murderous broil. I have seen 


IVANHOE 


257 


their blood flow — I have heard their dying groans ! Look on 
me, Cedric ; are there not still left on this foul and faded face 
some traces of the features of Torquil ? ’ 

‘ Ask me not of them, Ulrica,’ replied Cedric, in a tone of 
grief mixed with abhorrence; Hhese traces form such a re- 
semblance as arises from the grave of the dead when a fiend 
has animated the lifeless corpse.’ 

^Be it so,’ answered Ulrica; ^yet wore these fiendish feat- 
ures the mask of a spirit of light when they were able to set at 
variance the elder Front-de-Boeuf and his son Keginald ! The 
darkness of hell should hide what followed ; but revenge must 
lift the veil, and darkly intimate what it would raise the dead 
to speak aloud. Long had the smouldering fire of discord 
glowed between the tyrant father and his savage son; long 
had I nursed, in secret, the unnatural hatrel ! it blazed forth 
in an hour of drunken wassail, and at his own board fell my 
oppressor by the hand of his own son: such are the secrets 
these vaults conceal! Bend asunder, ye accursed arches,’ she 
added, looking up towards the roof, ^ and bury in your fall all 
who are conscious of the hideous mystery I ’ 

‘ And thou, creature of guilt and misery,’ said Cedric, ^ what 
became thy lot on the death of thy ravisher ? ’ 

^ Guess it, but ask it not. Here — here I dwelt, till age, 
premature age, has stamped its ghastly features on my counte- 
nance — scorned and insulted where I was once obeyed, and 
compelled to bound the revenge which had once such ample 
scope to the efforts of petty malice of a discontented menial, 
or the vain or unheeded curses of an impotent hag ; condemned 
to hear from my lonely turret the sounds of revelry in which I 
once partook, or the shrieks and groans of new victims of 
oppression.’ 

‘ Ulrica,’ said Cedric, ^ with a heart which still, I fear, re- 
grets the lost reward of thy crimes, as much as the deeds by 
which thou didst acquire that meed, how didst thou dare to 
address thee to one who wears this robe ? Consider, unhappy 
woman, what could the sainted Edward himself do for thee, 
were he here in bodily presence? The royal Confessor was 
endowed by Heaven with power to cleanse the ulcers of the 
body; but only God Himself can cure the leprosy of the soul.’ 

" Yet, turn not from me, stern prophet of wrath,’ she ex- 
claimed, " but tell me, if thou canst, in what shall terminate 
these new and awful feelings that burst on my solitude. Why 


258 


IVANHOE 


do deeds, long since done, rise before me in new and irresistible 
horrors? What fate is prepared beyond the grave for her to 
whom God has assigned on earth a lot of such unspeakable 
wretchedness? Better had I turn to Woden, Hertha, and 
Zernebock, to Mista, and to Skogula, the gods of our yet 
unbaptized ancestors, than endure the dreadful anticipations 
which have of late haunted my waking and my sleeping 
hours ! ’ 

^ I am no priest/ said Cedric, turning with disgust from this 
miserable picture of guilt, wretchedness, and despair — ‘ I am 
no priest, though I wear a priest’s garment.’ 

^ Priest or layman,’ answered Ulrica, ‘ thou art the first I 
have seen for twenty years by whom God was feared or man 
regarded ; and dost thou bid me despair ? ’ 

^ I bid thee repent,’ said Cedric. ^ Seek to prayer and pen- 
ance, and mayest thou find acceptance ! But I cannot, I will 
not, longer abide with thee.’ 

‘ Stay yet a moment ! ’ said Ulrica ; ^ leave me not now, son 
of my father’s friend, lest the demon who has governed my 
life should tempt me to avenge myself of thy hard-hearted 
scorn. Thinkest thou, if Front-de-Boeuf found Cedric the 
Saxon in his castle, in such a disguise, that thy life would be 
a long one ? Already his eye has been upon thee like a falcon 
on his prey.’ 

^ And be it so,’ said Cedric ; ‘ and let him tear me with beak 
and talons, ere my tongue say one word which my heart doth 
not warrant. I will die a Saxon — true in word, open in deed. 
I bid thee avaunt ! touch me not, stay me not ! The sight of 
Front-de-Boeuf himself is less odious to me than thou, de- 
graded and degenerate as thou art.’ 

‘ Be it so,’ said Ulrica, no longer interrupting him ; ^ go thy 
way, and forget, in the insolence of thy superiority, that the 
wretch before thee is the daughter of thy father’s friend. Go 
thy way ; if I am separated from mankind by my sufferings — 
separated from those whose aid I might most justly expect — 
not less will I be separated from them in my revenge! No 
man shall aid me, but the ears of all men shall tingle to hear 
of the deed which I shall dare to do! Farewell! thy scorn 
has burst the last tie which seemed yet to unite me to my kind 
— a thought that my woes might claim the compassion of my 
people.’ 

^Ulrica,’ said Cedric, softened by this appeal, ^ hast thou 


IVANHOE 


259 


borne up and endured to live through so much guilt and sc 
much misery, and wilt thou now yield to despair when thine 
eyes are opened to thy crimes, and when repentance were thy 
fitter occupation ? ^ 

^ Cedric,’ answered Ulrica, ^ thou little knowest the human 
heart. To act as I have acted, to think as I have thought, 
requires the maddening love of pleasure, mingled with the 
keen appetite of revenge, the proud consciousness of power — 
draughts too intoxicating for the human heart to bear, and yet 
retain the power to prevent. Their force has long passed 
away. Age has no pleasures, wrinkles have no infiuence, re- 
venge itself dies away in impotent curses. Then comes re- 
morse, with all its vipers, mixed with vain regrets for the 
past and despair for the future ! Then, when all other strong 
impulses have ceased, we become like the fiends in hell, who 
may feel remorse, but never repentance. But thy words have 
awakened a new soul within me. Well hast thou said, all is 
possible for those who dare to die ! Thou hast shown me the 
means of revenge, and be assured I will embrace them. It has 
hitherto shared this wasted bosom with other and with rival 
passions; henceforward it shall possess me wholly, and thou 
thyself shalt say that, whatever was the life of Ulrica, her 
death well became the daughter of the noble Torquil. There 
is a force without beleaguering this accursed castle; hasten 
to lead them to the attack, and when thou shalt see a red fiag 
wave from the turret on the eastern angle of the donjon, press 
the Normans hard : they will then have enough to do within, 
and you may win the wall in spite both of bow and mangonel. 
Begone, I pray thee; follow thine own fate, and leave me to 
mine.’ 

Cedric would have inquired farther into the purpose which 
she thus darkly announced, but the stern voice of Front-de- 
Boeuf was heard exclaiming, ^ Where tarries this loitering 
priest? By the scallop-shell of Compostella, I will make a 
martyr of him, if he loiters here to hatch treason among my 
domestics ! ’ 

^ What a true prophet,’ said Ulrica, ^ is an evil conscience ! 
But heed him not ; out and to thy people. Cry your Saxon 
onslaught ; and let them sing their war-song of Eollo, if they 
will, vengeance shall bear a burden to it.’ 

As she thus spoke, she vanished through a private door, and 
Keginald Front-de-Boeuf entered the apartment. Cedric, with 


2G0 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


some difficulty, compelled himself to make obeisance to the 
haughty Baron, who returned his courtesy with a slight in- 
clination of the head. 

‘ Thy penitents, father, have made a long shrift : it is the 
better for them, since it is the last they shall ever make. Hast 
thou prepared them for death?’ 

found them,’ said Cedric, in such French as he could 
command, ‘ expecting the worst, from the moment they knew 
into whose power they had fallen.’ 

^ How now. Sir Friar,’ replied Front-de-Boeuf, ‘ thy speech, 
methinks, smacks of a Saxon tongue ? ’ 

^ I was bred in the convent of St. Withold of Burton,’ an- 
swered Cedric. 

' Ay ? ’ said the Baron ; ^ it had been better for thee to have 
been a Norman, and better for my purpose too ; but need has 
no choice of messengers. That St. Withold’s of Burton is a 
h owlet’s nest worth the harrying. The day will soon come 
that the frock shall protect the Saxon as little as the mail- 
coat.’ 

‘ God’s will be done,’ said Cedric, in a voice tremulous with 
passion, which Front-de-Boeuf imputed to fear. 

^ I see,’ said he, ^ thou dreamest already that our men-at- 
arms are in thy refectory and thy ale-vaults. But do me one 
cast of thy holy office, and, come what list of others, thou 
shalt sleep as safe in thy cell as a snail within his shell of 
proof.’ 

^ Speak your commands,’ said Cedric, with suppressed emo- 
tion. 

^ Follow me through this passage, then, that I may dismiss 
thee by the postern.’ 

And as he strode on his way before the supposed friar, 
Front-de-Boeuf thus schooled him in the part which he desired 
he should act. 

^ Thou seest. Sir Friar, yon herd of Saxon swine, who have 
dared to environ this castle of Torquilstone. Tell them what- 
ever thou hast a mind of the weakness of this fortalice, or 
aught else that can detain them before it for twenty-four 
hours. Meantime bear thou this scroll. But soft — canst read. 
Sir Priest ? ’ 

' Not a jot I,’ answered Cedric, ^save on my breviary; and 
then I know the characters, because I have the holy service 
by heart, praised be Our Lady and St. Withold ! ’ 


IVANHOE 


261 


^The fitter messenger for my purpose. Carry thou this 
scroll to the castle of Philip de Malvoisin ; say it cometh from 
me, and is written by the Templar Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
and that I pray him to send it to York with all the speed man 
and horse can make. Meanwhile, tell him to doubt nothing, he 
shall find us whole and sound behind our battlement. Shame 
on it, that we should be compelled to hide thus by a pack of 
runagates, who are wont to fly even at the flash of our pennons 
and the tramp of our horses ! I say to thee, priest, contrive 
some cast of thine art to keep the knaves where they are, until 
our friends bring up their lances. My vengeance is awake, 
and she is a falcon that slumbers not till she has been gorged.’ 

‘ By my patron saint,’ said Cedric, with deeper energy than 
became his character, ^ and by every saint who has lived and 
died in England, your commands shall be obeyed! Not a 
Saxon shall stir from before these walls, if I have art and 
influence to detain them there.’ 

^ Ha ! ’ said Front-de-Boeuf, ^ thou changest thy tone. Sir 
Priest, and speakest brief and bold, as if thy heart were in the 
slaughter of the Saxon herd; and yet thou art thyself of 
kindred to the swine ? ’ 

Cedric was no ready practiser of the art of dissimulation, 
and would at this moment have been much the better of a 
hint from Wamba’s more fertile brain. But necessity, accord- 
ing to the ancient proverb, sharpens invention, and he mut- 
tered something under his cowl concerning the men in ques- 
tion being excommunicated outlaws both to church and to 
kingdom. 

Despardieux/ answered Front-de-Boeuf, ^ thou hast spoken 
the very truth : I forgot that the knaves can strip a fat abbot 
as well as if they had been born south of yonder salt channel. 
Was it not he of St. Ives whom they tied to an oak-tree, and 
compelled to sing a mass while they were rifling his mails and 
his wallets? No, by Our Lady, that jest was played by Gaul- 
tier of Middleton, one of our own companions-at-arms. But 
they were Saxons who robbed the chapel at St. Bees of cup, 
candlestick, and chalice, were they not ? ’ 

‘ They were godless men,’ answered Cedric. 

^ Ay, and they drank out all the good wine and ale that lay 
in store for many a secret carousal, when ye pretend ye are 
but busied with vigils and primes ! Priest, thou art bound to 
revenge such sacrilege ! ’ 


26 S 


IVANHOE 


^ I am indeed bound to vengeance/ murmured Cedric ; ^ St 
Withold knows my heart/ 

Front-de-Boeuf, in the meanwhile, led the way to a postern, 
where, passing the moat on a single plank, they reached a 
small barbican, or exterior defence, which communicated with 
the open field by a well-fortified sallyport. 

^Begone, then; and if thou wilt do mine errand, and if 
thou return hither when it is done, thou shalt see Saxon 
fiesh cheap as ever was hog’s in the shambles of Sheffield. 
And, hark thee, thou seemest to be a jolly confessor; come 
hither after the onslaught, and thou shalt have as much Mal- 
voisie as would drench thy whole convent.’ 

^ Assuredly we shall meet again,’ answered Cedric. 

^ Something in hand the whilst,’ continued the Norman ; 
and, as they parted at the postern door, he thrust into Cedric’s 
reluctant hand a gold byzant, adding, ^Eemember, I will 
fiay off both cowl and skin if thou failest in thy purpose.’ 

^ And full leave will I give thee to do both/ answered 
Cedric, leaving the postern, and striding forth over the free 
field with a joyful step, ‘ if, when we meet next, I deserve not 
better at thine hand.’ Turning then back towards the castle, 
he threw the piece of gold towards the donor, exclaiming at 
the same time, ‘ False Norman, thy money perish with thee ! ’ 

Front-de-Boeuf heard the words imperfectly, but the action 
was suspicious. ‘Archers/ he called to the warders on the 
outward battlements, ‘ send me an arrow through yon monk’s 
frock ! Yet stay/ he said, as his retainers were bending their 
bows, ‘ it avails not ; we must thus far trust him since we have 
no better shift. I think he dares not betray me ; at the worst 
I can but treat with these Saxon dogs whom I have safe in 
kennel. Ho ! Giles jailor, let them bring Cedric of Eother- 
wood before me, and the other churl, his companion — him I 
mean of Coningsburgh — Athelstane there, or what call they 
him? Their very names are an encumbrance to a Norman 
knight’s mouth, and have, as it were, a flavour of bacon. Give 
me a stoup of wine, as jolly Prince John said, that I may wash 
away the relish ; place it in the armoury, and thither lead the 
prisoners.’ 

His commands were obeyed ; and, upon entering that Gothic 
apartment, hung with many spoils won by his own valour and 
that of his father, he found a flagon of wine on the massive 
oaken table, and the two Saxon captives under the guard of 


IVANHOE 


263 


four of his dependants. Front-de-Boeiif took a long draught 
of wine, and then addressed his prisoners ; for the manner in 
which Wamba drew the cap over his face, the change of dress, 
the gloomy and broken light, and the Baron’s imperfect ac- 
quaintance with the features of Cedric, who avoided his Nor- 
man neighbours, and seldom stirred beyond his own domains, 
prevented him from discovering that the most important of 
his captives had made his escape. 

^ Gallants of England,’ said Front-de-Boeuf, ^ how relish ye 
your entertainment at Torquilstone ? Are ye yet aware what 
your surquedy and outrecuidance merit, for scoffing at the en- 
tertainment of a prince of the house of Anjou ? Have ye for- 
gotten how ye requited the unmerited hospitality of the royal 
J ohn ? By God and St. Denis, an ye pay not the richer ran- 
som, I will hang ye up by the feet from the iron bars of these 
windows, till the kites and hooded crows have made skeletons 
of you ! Speak out, ye Saxon dogs — what bid ye for your 
worthless lives ? How say you, you of Rotherwood ? ’ 

^ Not a doit I,’ answered poor Wamba ; ^ and for hanging up 
by the feet, my brain has been topsy-turvy, they say, ever 
since the biggin was bound first round my head; so turning 
me upside down may peradventure restore it again.’ 

^ St. Genevieve ! ’ said Front-de-Boeuf, ^ what have we got 
here ? ’ 

And with the back of his hand he struck Cedric’s cap from 
the head of the J ester, and throwing open his collar, discovered 
the fatal badge of servitude, the silver collar round his neck. 

^ Giles — Clement — dogs and varlets ! ’ exclaimed the furious 
Norman, ^ what have you brought me here? ’ 

^ I think I can tell you,’ said De Bracy, who just entered 
the apartment. ^ This is Cedric’s clown, who fought so man- 
ful a skirmish with Isaac of York about a question of prece- 
dence.’ 

^ I shall settle it for them both,’ replied Front-de-Boeuf ; 
Hhey shall hang on the same gallows, unless his master and 
this boar of Coningsburgh will pay well for their lives. Their 
wealth is the least they can surrender; they must also carry 
off with them the swarms that are besetting the castle, sub- 
scribe a surrender of their pretended immunities, and live 
under us as serfs and vassals; too happy if, in the new world 
that is about to begin, we leave them the breath of their nos- 
trils. Go,’ said he to two of his attendants, ^ fetch me the right 


264 


IVANHOB 


Cedric hither, and I pardon yonr error for once; the rather 
that you but mistook a fool for a Saxon franklin/ 

^ Ay, but,’ said Wamba, ^ your chivalrous excellency will find 
there are more fools than franklins among us.’ 

^ What means the knave ? ’ said Front-de-Boeuf, looking to- 
wards his followers, who, lingering and loth, faltered forth 
their belief that, if this were not Cedric who was there in 
presence, they knew not what was become of him. 

^ Saints of Heaven ! ’ exclaimed De Bracy, ^ he must have 
escaped in the monk’s garments ! ’ 

^ Fiends of hell ! ’ echoed Front-de-Boeuf, ^ it was then the 
boar of Eotherwood whom I ushered to the postern, and dis- 
missed with my own hands! And thou,’ he said to Wamba, 
^ whose folly could overreach the wisdom of idiots yet more 
gross than thyself — I will give thee holy orders — I will shave 
thy crown for thee I Here, let them tear the scalp from his 
head, and then pitch him headlong from the battlements. 
Thy trade is to jest, canst thou jest now ? ’ 

^ You deal with me better than your word, noble knight,’ 
whimpered forth poor Wamba, whose habits of buffoonery 
were not to be overcome even by the immediate prospect of 
death ; ‘ if you give me the red cap you propose, out of a simple 
monk you will make a cardinal.’ 

'The poor wretch,’ said De Bracy, 'is resolved to die in 
his vocation. Front-de-Boeuf you shall not slay him. Give 
him to me to make sport for my Free Companions. How 
sayst thou, knave? Wilt thou take heart of grace, and go to 
the wars with me? ’ 

' Ay, with my master’s leave,’ said Wamba ; ' for, look you, 
I must not slip collar (and he touched that which he wore) 
without his permission.’ 

' Oh, a Horman saw will soon cut a Saxon collar,’ said De 
Bracy. 

' Ah, noble sir,’ said Wamba, ' and thence goes the proverb — 

Norman saw on English oak, 

On English neck a Norman yoke ; 

Norman spoon in English dish, 

And England ruled as Normans wish'; 

Blythe world to England never will be more, 

Till England’s rid of all the four.’ 

' Thou dost well, De Bracy,’ said Front-de-Bceuf, ' to stand 
there listening to a fool’s jargon, when destruction is gaping 
for us ! Seest thou not we are overreached, and that our pro- 


IVANHOE 


265 


posed mode of communicating with our friends without has 
been disconcerted by this same motley gentleman thou art so 
fond to brother? What views have we to expect but instant 
storm ? ^ 

^ To the battlements then/ said De Bracy ; ‘ when didst thou 
ever see me the graver for the thoughts of battle? Call the 
Templar yonder, and let him fight but half so well for his life 
as he has done for his order. Make thou to the walls thyself 
with thy huge body. Let me do my poor endeavour in my 
own way, and I tell thee the Saxon outlaws may as well at- 
tempt to scale the clouds as the castle of Torquilstone ; or, if 
you will treat with the banditti, why not employ the mediation 
of this worthy franklin, who seems in such deep contempla- 
tion of the wine-fiagon ? Here, Saxon/ he continued, address- 
ing Athelstane, and handing the cup to him, ^ rinse thy throat 
with that noble liquor, and rouse up thy soul to say what thou 
wilt do for thy liberty.’ 

‘ What a man of mould may/ answered Athelstane, ‘ pro- 
viding it be what a man of manhood ought. Dismiss me free, 
with my companions, and I will pay a ransom of a thousand 
marks.’ 

^ And wilt moreover assure us the retreat of that scum of 
mankind who are swarming around the castle, contrary to 
God’s peace and the king’s ? ’ said Front-de-Boeuf . 

^ In so far as I can/ answered Athelstane, ^ I will withdraw 
them; and I fear not but that my father Cedric will do his 
best to assist me.’ 

^ We are agreed then,’ said Front-de-Boeuf, ^ thou and they 
are to be set at freedom, and peace is to be on both sides, for 
payment of a thousand marks. It is a trifling ransom, Saxon, 
and thou wilt owe gratitude to the moderation which accepts 
of it in exchange of your persons. But mark, this extends 
not to the Jew Isaac.’ 

^ Nor to the Jew Isaac’s daughter/ said the Templar, who 
had now joined them. 

^Neither/ said Front-de-Boeuf, ^belong to this Saxon’s 
company.’ 

‘I were unworthy to be called Christian, if they did/ re- 
plied Athelstane ; ^ deal with the unbelievers as ye list.’ 

^Neither does the ransom include the Lady Eowena/ said 
De Bracy. ' It shall never be said I was scared out of a fair 
prize without striking a blow for it.’ 


266 


IVANHOE 


‘ Neither/ said Front-de-Boeuf, ^ does our treaty refer to this 
wretched Jester, whom I retain, that I may make him an 
example to every knave who turns jest into earnest/ 

^The Lady Eowena/ answered Athelstane, with the most 
steady countenance, ^ is my affianced bride. I will be drawn by 
wild horses before I consent to part with her. The slave 
Wamba has this day saved the life of my father Cedric. I will 
lose mine ere a hair of his head be injured.’ 

^ Thy affianced bride ! The Lady Eowena the affianced 
bride of a vassal like thee ! ’ said De Bracy. ‘ Saxon, thou 
dreamest that the days of thy seven kingdoms are returned 
again. I tell thee, the princes of the house of Anjou confer 
not their wards on men of such lineage as thine.’ 

^ My lineage, proud Norman,’ replied Athelstane, ^ is drawn 
from a source more pure and ancient than that of a beggarly 
Frenchman, whose living is won by selling the blood of the 
thieves whom he assembles under his paltry standard. Kings 
were my ancestors, strong in war and wise in council, who 
every day feasted in their hall more hundreds than thou canst 
number individual followers ; whose names have been sung by 
minstrels, and their laws recorded by Witenagemotes ; whose 
bones were interred amid the prayers of saints, and over 
whose tombs minsters have been builded.’ 

^ Thou hast it, De Bracy,’ said Front-de-Boeuf, well pleased 
with the rebuff which his companion had received ; ^ the Saxon 
hath hit thee fairly.’ 

‘ As fairly as a captive can strike,’ said De Bracy, with 
apparent carelessness; ‘for he whose hands are tied should 
have his tongue at freedom. But thy glibness of reply, com- 
rade,’ rejoined he, speaking to Athelstane, ‘will not win the 
freedom of the Lady Eowena.’ 

To this Athelstane, who had already made a longer speech 
than was his custom to do on any topic, however interesting, 
returned no answer. The conversation was interrupted by the 
arrival of a menial, who announced that a monk demanded 
admittance at the postern gate. 

‘In the name of St. Bennet, the prince of these bull- 
beggars,’ said Front-de-Boeuf, ‘ have we a real monk this time, 
or another impostor? Search him, slaves; for an ye suffer a 
second impostor to be palmed upon you, I will have your eyes 
torn out, and hot coals put into the sockets.’ 

‘ Let me endure the extremity of your anger, my lord,’ said 


IVANHOE 


267 


Giles, ^ if this be not a real shaveling. Your squire Jocelyn 
knows him well, and will vouch him to be Brother Ambrose, a 
monk in attendance upon the Prior of Jorvaulx.’ 

‘ Admit him,’ said Front-de-Boeuf ; ^ most likely he brings us 
news from his jovial master. Surely the devil keeps holiday, 
and the priests are relieved from duty, that they are strolling 
thus wildly through the country. Remove these prisoners; 
and, Saxon, think on what thou hast heard.’ 

^ I claim,’ said Athelstane, ^ an honorable imprisonment, 
with due care of my board and of my couch, as becomes my 
rank, and as is due to one who is in treaty for ransom. More- 
over, I hold him that deems himself the best of you bound to 
answer to me with his body for this aggression on my freedom. 
This defiance hath already been sent to thee by thy sewer; 
thou underliest it, and art bound to answer me. There lies my 
glove.’ 

^ I answer not the challenge of my prisoner,’ said Front-de- 
Bceuf, ' nor shalt thou, Maurice de Bracy. Giles,’ he con- 
tinued, ‘ hang the franklin’s glove upon the tine of yonder 
branch antlers; there shall it remain until he is a free man. 
Should he then presume to demand it, or to affirm he was un- 
lawfully made my prisoner, by the belt of St. Christopher, he 
will speak to one who hath never refused to meet a foe on foot 
or on horseback, alone or with his vassals at his back ! ’ 

The Saxon prisoners were accordingly removed, just as they 
introduced the monk Ambrose, who appeared to be in great 
perturbation. 

‘ This is the real Deus vohiscumf said Wamba, as he 
passed the reverend brother; Hhe others were but counter- 
feits.’ 

^ Holy Mother ! ’ said the monk, as he addressed the assem- 
bled knights, ‘I am at last safe and in Christian keep- 
ing!’ 

‘ Safe thou art,’ replied De Bracy, ' and for Christianity, 
here is the stout Baron Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, whose utter 
abomination is a Jew; and the good Knight Templar, Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, whose trade is to slay Saracens. If these are 
not good marks of Christianity, I know no other which they 
bear about them.’ 

^Ye are friends and allies of our reverend father in God, 
Aymer, Prior of Jorvaulx,’ said the monk, without noticing 
the tone of De Bracy’s reply; ‘ye owe him aid both by 


268 


IVANHOE 


knightly faith and holy charity ; for what saith the blessed St. 
Augustin, in his treatise De Civitate Dei ^ 

'What saith the devil!' interrupted Front-de-Boeuf ; 'or 
rather what dost thou say, Sir Priest? We have little time to 
hear texts from the holy fathers.' 

' Sancta Maria!' ejaculated Father Ambrose, 'how prompt 
to ire are these unhallowed laymen ! But be it known to you, 
brave knights, that certain murderous caitiffs, casting behind 
them fear of God and reverence of His church, and not regard- 
ing the bull of the holy see. Si quis, suadente Diaholo 

'Brother Priest,' said the Templar, 'all this we know or 
guess at; tell us plainly, is thy master, the Prior, made 
prisoner, and to whom ? ' 

' Surely,' said Ambrose, ' he is in the hands of the men of 
Belial, infesters of these woods, and contemners of the holy 
text, " Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets nought 
of evil." ' 

' Here is a new argument for our swords, sirs,' said Front- 
de-Boeuf, turning to his companions ; ' and so, instead of 
reaching us any assistance, the Prior of J orvaulx requests aid 
at our hands ? A man is well helped of these lazy churchmen 
when he hath most to do ! But speak out, priest, and say at 
once what doth thy master expect from us ? ' 

' So please you,' said Ambrose, ' violent hands having been 
imposed on my reverend superior, contrary to the holy ordi- 
nance which I did already quote, and the men of Belial having 
rifled his mails and budgets, and stripped him of two hundred 
marks of pure refined gold, they do yet demand of him a large 
sum beside, ere they will suffer him to depart from their un- 
circumcised hands. Wherefore the reverend father in God 
prays you, as his dear friends, to rescue him, either by paying 
down the ransom at which they hold him, or by force of arms, 
at your best discretion.' 

' The foul fiend quell the Prior ! ' said Front-de-Boeuf ; ' his 
morning's draught has been a deep one. When did thy master 
hear of a Norman baron unbuckling his purse to relieve a 
churchman, whose bags are ten times as weighty as ours? 
And how can we do aught by valour to free him, that are 
cooped up here by ten times our number, and expect an assault 
every moment ? ' 

' And that was what I was about to tell you,' said the monk, 
'had your hastiness allowed me time. But, God help me, I 


IVANHOE 


269 


am old, and these foul onslaughts distract an aged man’s 
brain. Nevertheless, it is of verity that they assemble a camp, 
and raise a bank against the walls of this castle.’ 

^ To the battlements ! ’ cried De Bracy, ^ and let us mark 
what these knaves do without ’ ; and so saying, he opened a 
latticed window which led to a sort of bartizan or projecting 
balcony, and immediately called from thence to those in the 
apartment — ^ St. Denis, but the old monk hath brought true 
tidings ! They bring forward mantelets and pavisses,* and the 
archers muster on the skirts of the wood like a dark cloud 
before a hail-storm.’ 

Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf also looked out upon the field, and 
immediately snatched his bugle ; and after winding a long and 
loud blast, commanded his men to their posts on the walls. 

^De Bracy, look to the eastern side where the walls are 
lowest. Noble Bois-Guilbert, thy trade hath well taught thee 
how to attack and defend, look thou to the western side. I 
myself will take post at the barbican. Yet, do not confine 
your exertions to any one spot, noble friends ! We must this 
day be everywhere, and multiply ourselves, were it possible, so 
as to carry by our presence succour and relief wherever the 
attack is hottest. Our numbers are few, but activity and cour- 
age may supply that defect, since we have only to do with 
rascal clowns.’ 

‘ But, noble knights,’ exclaimed Father Ambrose, amidst the 
bustle and confusion occasioned by the preparations for de- 
fence, ^ will none of ye hear the message of the reverend father 
in God, Aymer, Prior of Jorvaulx? I beseech thee to hear me, 
noble Sir Eeginald ! ’ 

^ Go patter thy petitions to Heaven,’ said the fierce Norman, 
f for we on earth have no time to listen to them. Ho ! there, 
Anselm ! see that seething pitch and oil are ready to pour on 
the heads of these audacious traitors. Look that the cross- 
bowmen lack* not bolts.* Fling abroad my banner with the 
old bull’s head; the knaves shall soon find with whom they 
have to do this day ! ’ 

'But, noble sir,’ continued the monk, persevering in his 
endeavours to draw attention, ' consider my vow of obedience, 
and let me discharge myself of my superior’s errand.’ 

' Away with this prating dotard,’ said Front-de-Boeuf ; ' lock 

* See Note 13. 

t See Bolts and Shafts. Note 14. 


270 


IVANHOE 


him up in the chapel to tell his beads till the broil be over. 
It will be a new thing to the saints in Torquilstone to hear 
aves and paters; they have not been so honoured, I trow, 
since they were cut out of stone.’ 

^Blaspheme not the holy saints. Sir Eeginald,’ said De 
Bracy, ^we shall have need of their aid to-day before yon 
rascal rout disband.’ 

^ I expect little aid from their hand,’ said Front-de-Boeuf, 
^ unless we were to hurl them from the battlements on the 
heads of the villains. There is a huge lumbering St. Chris- 
topher yonder, sufficient to bear a whole company to the 
earth.’ 

The Templar had in the meantime been looking out on the 
proceedings of the besiegers, with rather more attention than 
the brutal Front-de-Bceuf or his giddy companion. 

' By the faith of mine order,’ he said, ^ these men approach 
with more touch of discipline than could have been judged, 
however they come by it. See ye how dexterously they avail 
themselves of every cover which a tree or bush affords, and 
shun exposing themselves to the shot of our cross-bows? I 
spy neither banner nor pennon among them, and yet will I 
gage my golden chain that they are led on by some noble 
knight or gentleman, skilful in the practice of wars.’ 

^ I espy him,’ said De Bracy ; ^ I see the waving of a knight’s 
crest, and the gleam of his armour. See yon tall man in the 
black mail, who is busied marshalling the farther troop of the 
rascaille yeomen; by St. Denis, I hold him to be the same 
whom we called Le Noir Faineant , who overthrew thee, Front- 
de-Boeuf, in the lists at Ashby.’ 

^ So much the better,’ said Front-de-Bceuf, ^ that he comes 
here to give me my revenge. Some hilding fellow he must be, 
who dared not stay to assert his claim to the tourney prize 
which chance had assigned him. I should in vain have sought 
for him where knights and nobles seek their foes, and right 
glad am I he hath here shown himself among yon villain yeo- 
manry.’ 

The demonstrations of the enemy’s immediate approach cut 
off all farther discourse. Each knight repaired to his post, 
and at the head of the few followers whom they were able to 
muster, and who were in numbers inadequate to defend the 
whole extent of the walls, they awaited with calm determina- 
tion the threatened assault. 


IVANHOE 


271 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

This is the longest chapter in the romance. 

Could the interview between Cedric and Ulrica be curtailed to ad- 
vantage ? 

What purpose is served by Ulrica’s story? 

In what way is she to aid the besiegers ? 

Do we learn incidentally from her why Torquilstone is so named? 

How well does Cedric play his part here ? 

What irony in his replies to Front-de-Boeuf ? 

Describe the scene where Athelstane and Wamba appear before Pront- 
de-Boeuf. 

What interrupts the negotiations for ransom ? 

Notice that Front-de-Boeuf is baffled in his hope of outside aid from 
two quarters ; and must depend for the defence of the Castle upon a few 
retainers. 

What impression does Scott make by the hubbub in the closing pages 
of the chapter ? 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


The wandering race, sever’d from other men, 

Boast yet their intercourse with human arts ; 

The seas, the woods, the deserts, which they haunt. 

Find them acquainted with their secret treasures ; 

And unregarded herbs, and flowers, and blossoms. 

Display undreamt-of powers when gather’d by them. 

The Jew. 

Our history must needs retrograde for the space of a few 
pages, to inform the reader of certain passages material 
to his understanding the rest of this important narrative. His 
own intelligence may indeed have easily anticipated that, when 
Ivanhoe sunk down, and seemed abandoned by all the world, 
it was the importunity of Rebecca which prevailed on her 
father to have the gallant young warrior transported from the 
lists to the house which, for the time, the Jews inhabited in ^ 
the suburbs of Ashby. 

It would not have been difficult to have persuaded Isaac to 
this step in any other circumstances, for his disposition was 
kind and grateful. 3nt he had also the prejudices and scrupu- 
lous timidity of his persecuted people, and those were to be 
conquered. 

^ Holy Abraham ! ’ he exclaimed, ^ he is a good youth, and 
my heart bleeds to see the gore trickle down his rich em- 
broidered hacqueton, and his corslet of goodly price; but to 
carry him to our house! damsel, hast thou well considered? 
He is a Christian, and by our law we may not deal with the 
stranger and Gentile, save for the advantage of our com- 
merce.’ 

^ Speak not so, my dear father,’ replied Rebecca ; ‘ we may 
not indeed mix with them in banquet and in jollity; but in 
wounds and in misery, the Gentile becometh the Jew’s 
brother.’ 

^ I would I knew what the Rabbi Jacob ben Tudela would 
opine on it,’ replied Isaac; ^nevertheless, the good youth 

272 


IVANHOE 


273 


must not bleed to death. Let Seth and Reuben bear him to 
Ashby.^ 

^ Nay, let them place him in my litter/ said Rebecca ; ‘ I will 
mount one of the palfreys.^ 

^ That were to expose thee to the gaze of those dogs of 
Ishmael and of Edom/ whispered Isaac, with a suspicious 
glance towards the crowd of knights and squires. But Re- 
becca was already busied in carrying her charitable purpose 
into effect, and listed not what he said, until Isaac, seizing 
the sleeve of her mantle, again exclaimed, in a hurried voice — 
^ Beard of Aaron ! what if the youth perish ! If he die in our 
custody, shall we not be held guilty of his blood, and be torn 
to pieces by the multitude ? ’ 

^ He will not die, my father/ said Rebecca, gently extricat- 
ing herself from the grasp of Isaac — ^ he will not die unless we 
abandon him; and if so, we are indeed answerable for his 
blood to God and to man.^ 

^Nay/ said Isaac, releasing his hold, Mt grieveth me as 
much to see the drops of his blood as if they were so many 
golden byzants from mine own purse; and I well know that 
the lessons of Miriam, daughter of the Rabbi Manasses of By- 
zantium, whose soul is in Paradise, have made thee skilful in 
the art of healing, and that thou knowest the craft of herbs 
and the force of elixirs. Therefore, do as thy mind giveth 
thee : thou art a good damsel — a blessing, and a crown, and a 
song of rejoicing unto me and unto my house, and unto the 
people of my fathers.’ 

The apprehensions of Isaac, however, were not ill founded ; 
and the generous and grateful benevolence of his daughter 
exposed her, on her return to Ashby, to the unhallowed gaze 
of Brian de Bois-Guilbert. The Templar twice passed and 
repassed them, on the road, fixing his bold and ardent look on 
the beautiful Jewess; and we have already seen the conse- 
quences of the admiration which her charms excited, when 
accident threw her into the power of that unprincipled volup- 
tuary. 

Rebecca lost no time in causing the patient to be transported 
to their temporary dwelling, and proceeded with her own 
hands to examine and to bind up his wounds. The youngest 
reader of romances and romantic ballads must recollect how 
often the females, during the dark ages, as they are called, 
were initiated into the mysteries of surgery, and how fre- 


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IVANHOE 


quently the gallant knight submitted the wounds of his person 
to her cure whose eyes had yet more deeply penetrated his 
heart. 

But the Jews, both male and female, possessed and prac- 
tised the medical science in all its branches, and the monarchs 
and powerful barons of the time frequently committed them- 
selves to the charge of some experienced sage among this de- 
spised people when wounded or in sickness. The aid of the 
J ewish physicians was not the less eagerly sought after, though 
a general belief prevailed among the Christians that the 
Jewish rabbins were deeply acquainted with the occult 
sciences, and particularly with the cabalistical art, which had 
its name and origin in the studies of the sages of Israel. 
Neither did the rabbins disown such acquaintance with super- 
natural arts, which added nothing — for what could add 
aught? — to the hatred with which their nation was regarded, 
while it diminished the contempt with which that malevolence 
was mingled. A Jewish magician might be the subject of 
equal abhorrence with a Jewish usurer, but he could not be 
equally despised. It is, besides, probable, considering the 
wonderful cures they are said to have performed, that the 
Jews possessed some secrets of the healing art peculiar to 
themselves, and which, with the exclusive spirit arising out 
of their condition, they took great care to conceal from the 
Christians amongst whom they dwelt. 

The beautiful Eebecca had been heedfully brought up in all 
the knowledge proper to her nation, which her apt and power- 
ful mind had retained, arranged, and enlarged, in the course 
of a progress beyond her years, her sex, and even the age in 
which she lived. Her knowledge of medicine and of the heal- 
ing art had been acquired under an aged Jewess, the daughter 
of one of their most celebrated doctors, who loved Eebecca as 
her own child, and was believed to have communicated to her 
secrets which had been left to herself by her sage father at 
the same time, and under the same circumstances. The fate 
of Miriam had indeed been to fall a sacrifice to the fanaticism 
of the times ; but her secrets had survived in her apt pupil. 

Eebecca, thus endowed with knowledge as with beauty, was 
universally revered and admired by her own tribe, who almost 
regarded her as one of those gifted women mentioned in the 
sacred history. Her father himself, out of reverence for her 
talents, which involuntarily mingled itself with his un- 


IVANHOE 


275 


bounded affection, permitted the maiden a greater liberty than 
was usually indulged to those of her sex by the habits of her 
people, and was, as we have Just seen, frequently guided by her 
opinion, even in preference to his own. 

When Ivanhoe reached the habitation of Isaac, he was still 
in a state of unconsciousness, owing to the profuse loss of 
blood which had taken place during his exertions in the lists. 
Kebecca examined the wound, and having applied to it such 
vulnerary remedies as her art prescribed, informed her father 
that if fever could be averted, of which the great bleeding 
rendered her little apprehensive, and if the healing balsam of 
Miriam retained its virtue, there was nothing to fear for his 
guest’s life, and that he might with safety travel to York with 
them on the ensuing day. Isaac looked a little blank at this 
annunciation. His charity would willingly have stopped short 
at Ashby, or at most would have left the wounded Christian 
to be tended in the house where he was residing at present, 
with an assurance to the Hebrew to whom it belonged that 
all expenses should be duly discharged. To this, however, 
Eebecca opposed many reasons, of which we shall only men- 
tion two that had peculiar weight with Isaac. The one was, 
that she would on no account put the phial of precious balsam 
into the hands of another physician even of her own tribe, 
lest that valuable mystery should be discovered; the other, 
that this wounded knight, Wilfred of Ivanhoe, was an inti- 
mate favourite of Kichard Coeur-de-Lion, and that, in case 
the monarch should return, Isaac, who had supplied his 
brother John with treasure to prosecute his rebellious pur- 
poses, would stand in no small need of a powerful protector 
who enjoyed Eichard’s favour. 

^ Thou art speaking but sooth, Eebecca,’ said Isaac, giving 
way to these weighty arguments: ^it were an offending of 
Heaven to betray the secrets of the blessed Miriam; for the 
good which Heaven giveth is not rashly to be squandered 
upon others, whether it be talents of gold and shekels of 
silver, or whether it be the secret mysteries of a wise physi- 
cian; assuredly they should be preserved to those to whom 
Providence hath vouchsafed them. And him whom the 
Hazarenes of England call the Lion’s Heart — assuredly 
it were better for me to fall into the hands of a strong 
lion of Idumea than into his, if he shall have got assur- 
ance of my dealing with his brother. Wherefore I will lend 


276 


IVANHOE 


ear to thy counsel, and this youth shall journey with us 
unto York, and our house shall be as a home to him until his 
wounds shall be healed. And if he of the Lion Heart shall 
return to the land, as is now noised abroad, then shall this 
Wilfred of Ivanhoe be unto me as a wall of defence, when 
the king’s displeasure shall burn high against thy father. 
And if he doth not return, this Wilfred may natheless repay 
us our charges when he shall gain treasure by the strength of 
his spear and of his sword, even as he did yesterday and this 
day also. For the youth is a good youth, and keepeth the 
day which he appointeth, and restoreth that which he bor- 
roweth, and succoreth the Israelite, even the child of my 
father’s house, when he is encompassed by strong thieves and 
sons of Belial.’ 

It was not until evening was nearly closed that Ivanhoe 
was restored to consciousness of his situation. He awoke from 
a broken slumber, under the confused impressions which are 
naturally attendant on the recovery from a state of insensibil- 
ity. He was unable for some time to recall exactly to memory 
the circumstances which had preceded his fall in the lists, or 
to make out any connected chain of the events in which he had 
been engaged upon the yesterday. A sense of wounds and 
injury, joined to great weakness and exhaustion, was mingled 
with the recollection of blows dealt and received, of steeds 
rushing upon each other, overthrowing and overthrown, of 
shouts and clashing of arms, and all the heady tumult of a 
confused fight. An effort to draw aside the curtain of his 
couch was in some degree successful, although rendered diffi- 
cult by the pain of his wound. 

To his great surprise, he found himself in a room magnifi- 
cently furnished, but having cushions instead of chairs to rest 
upon, and in other respects partaking so much of Oriental 
costume that he began to doubt whether he had not, during 
his sleep, been transported back again to the land of Pales- 
tine. The impression was increased when, the tapestry being 
drawn aside, a female form, dressed in a rich habit, which 
partook more of the Eastern taste than that of Europe, glided 
through the door which it concealed, and was followed by a 
swarthy domestic. 

As the wounded knight was about to address this fair ap- 
parition, she imposed silence by placing her slender finger 
upon her ruby lips, while the attendant, approaching him, 


IVANHOE 


277 

proceeded to uncover Ivanhoe’s side, and the lovely Jewess 
satisfied herself that the bandage was in its place, and the 
wound doing well. She performed her task with a graceful 
and dignified simplicity and modesty, which might, even in 
more civilised days, have served to redeem it from whatever 
might seem repugnant to female delicacy. The idea of so 
young and beautiful a person engaged in attendance on a 
sick-bed, or in dressing the wound of one of a different sex, 
was melted away and lost in that of a beneficent being con- 
tributing her effectual aid to relieve pain, and to avert the 
stroke of death. Rebecca’s few and brief directions w^ere 
given in the Hebrew language to the old domestic; and he, 
who had been frequently her assistant in similar cases, obeyed 
them without reply. 

The accents of an unknown tongue, however harsh they 
might have sounded when uttered by another, had, coming 
from the beautiful Rebecca, the romantic and pleasing effect 
which fancy ascribes to the charms pronounced by some bene- 
ficent fairy, unintelligible, indeed, to the ear, but from the 
sweetness of utterance and benignity of aspect which accom- 
panied them touching and affecting to the heart. Without 
making an attempt at further question, Ivanhoe suffered them 
in silence to take the measures they thought most proper for 
his recovery; and it was not until those were completed, and 
this kind physician about to retire, that his curiosity could 
no longer be suppressed. ^ Gentle maiden,’ he began in the 
Arabian tongue, with which his Eastern travels had rendered 
him familiar, and which he thought most likely to be under- 
stood by the turbaned and caftaned damsel who stood before 
him — ^ I pray you, gentle maiden, of your courtesy 

But here he was interrupted by his fair physician, a smile 
which she could scarce suppress dimpling for an instant a face 
whose general expression was that of contemplative melan- 
choly. ‘ I am of England, Sir Knight, and speak the English 
tongue, although my dress and my lineage belong to another 
climate.’ 

^Koble damsel ’ again the Knight of Ivanhoe began, 

and again Rebecca hastened to interrupt him. 

^ Bestow not on me. Sir Knight,’ she said, ^ the epithet of 
noble. It is well you should speedily know that your hand- 
maiden is a poor Jewess, the daughter of that Isaac of York to 
whom you were so lately a good and kind lord. It well be- 


278 


IVANHOE 


comes him and those of his household to render to you such 
careful tendance as your present state necessarily demands.’ 

I know not whether the fair Eowena would have been alto- 
gether satisfied with the species of emotion with which her 
devoted knight had hitherto gazed on the beautiful features, 
and fair form, and lustrous eyes of the lovely Eebecca — eyes 
whose brilliancy was shaded, and, as it were, mellowed, by the 
fringe of her long silken eyelashes, and which a minstrel 
would have compared to the evening star darting its rays 
through a bower of jessamine. But Ivanhoe was too good a 
Catholic to retain the same class of feelings towards a Jewess. 
This Eebecca had foreseen, and for this very purpose she had 
hastened to mention her father’s name and lineage ; yet — for 
the fair and wise daughter of Isaac was not without a touch of 
female weakness — she could not but sigh internally when the 
glance of respectful admiration, not altogether unmixed with 
tenderness, with which Ivanhoe had hitherto regarded his un- 
known benefactress, was exchanged at once for a manner cold, 
composed, and collected, and fraught with no deeper feeling 
than that which expressed a grateful sense of courtesy received 
from an unexpected quarter, and from one of an inferior 
race. It was not that Ivanhoe’s former carriage expressed 
more than that general devotional homage which youth always 
pays to beauty; yet it was mortifying that one word should 
operate as a spell to remove poor Eebecca, who could not be 
supposed altogether ignorant of her title to such homage, into 
a degraded class, to whom it could not be honourably ren- 
dered. 

But the gentleness and candour of Eebecca’s nature imputed 
no fault to Ivanhoe for sharing in the universal prejudices of 
his age and religion. On the contrary, the fair Jewess, though 
sensible her patient now regarded her as one of a race of repro- 
bation, with whom it was disgraceful to hold any beyond the 
most necessary intercourse, ceased not to pay the same patient 
and devoted attention to his safety and convalescence. She 
informed him of the necessity they were under of removing 
to York, and of her father’s resolution to transport him 
thither, and tend him in his own house until his health should 
be restored. Ivanhoe expressed great repugnance to this 
plan, which he grounded on unwillingness to give farther 
trouble to his benefactors. 

^ Was there not,’ he said, ^ in Ashby, or near it, some Saxon 


IVANHOE 


279 


franklin, or even some wealthy peasant, who would endure the 
burden of a wounded countryman’s residence with him until 
he should be again able to bear his armour? Was there no 
convent of Saxon endowment, where he could be received? 
Or could he not be transported as far as Burton, where he was 
sure to find hospitality with Waltheoff, the Abbot of St. 
Withold’s, to whom he was related ? ’ 

‘ Any, the worst of these harbourages,’ said Rebecca, with a 
melancholy smile, ‘ would unquestionably be more fitting for 
your residence than the abode of a despised Jew; yet, Sir 
Knight, unless you would dismiss your physician, you cannot 
change your lodging. Our nation, as you well know, can cure 
wounds, though we deal not in indicting them ; and in our own 
family, in particular, are secrets which have been handed 
down since the days of Solomon, and of which you have 
already experienced the advantages. Ko Nazarine — I crave 
your forgiveness. Sir Knight — no Christian leech, within the 
four seas of Britain, could enable you to bear your corslet 
within a month.’ 

^ And how soon wilt thou enable me to brook it ? ’ said 
Ivanhoe, impatiently. 

^ Within eight days, if thou wilt be patient and comfortable 
to my directions,’ replied Rebecca. 

^ By Our Blessed Lady,’ said Wilfred, ‘ if it be not a sin to 
name her here, it is no time for me or any true knight to be 
bedridden; and if thou accomplish thy promise, maiden, I 
will pay thee with my casque full of crowns, come by them as 
I may.’ 

^ I will accomplish my promise,’ said Rebecca, ^ and thou 
shalt bear thine armour on the eighth day from hence, if thou 
wilt grant me but one boon in the stead of the silver thou dost 
promise me.’ 

^ If it be within my power, and such as a true Christian 
knight may yield to one of thy people,’ replied Ivanhoe, ^ I will 
grant thy boon blythely and thankfully.’ 

' Kay,’ answered Rebecca, ^ I will but pray of thee to believe 
henceforward that a Jew may do good service to a Christian, 
without desiring other guerdon than the blessing of the Great 
Father who made both Jew and Gentile.’ 

" It were sin to doubt it, maiden,’ replied Ivanhoe ; ' and I 
repose myself on thy skill without further scruple or question, 
well trusting you will enable me to bear my corslet on the 


280 


IVANHOE 


eighth day. And now, my kind leech, let me inquire of the 
news abroad. What of the noble Saxon Cedric and his house- 
hold ? what of the lovely Lady ’ He stopt, as if unwilling 

to speak Eowena’s name in the house of a J ew — Of her, I 
mean, who was named Queen of the tournament?^ 

‘And who was selected by you. Sir Knight, to hold that 
dignity, with judgment which was admired as much as your 
valour,^ replied Eebecca. 

The blood which Ivanhoe had lost did not prevent a flush 
from crossing his cheek, feeling that he had incautiously 
betrayed his deep interest in Eowena by the awkward attempt 
he had made to conceal it. 

‘ It was less of her I would speak,’ said he, ‘ than of Prince 
John; and I would fain know somewhat of a faithful squire, 
and why he now attends me not?’ 

‘Let me use my authority as a leech,’ answered Eebecca, 
‘ and enjoin you to keep silence, and avoid agitating reflec- 
tions, whilst I apprise you of what you desire to know. Prince 
John hath broken off the tournament, and set forward in all 
haste towards York, with the nobles, knights, and churchmen 
of his party, after collecting such sums as they could wring, 
by fair means or foul, from those who are esteemed the 
wealthy of the land. It is said he designs to assume his 
brother’s crown.’ 

‘ Hot without a blow struck in its defence,’ said Ivanhoe, 
raising himself upon the couch, ‘if there were but one true 
subject in England. I will fight for Eichard’s title with the 
best of them — ay, one to two, in his just quarrel ! ’ 

‘ But that you may be able to do so,’ said Eebecca, touching 
his shoulder with her hand, ‘you must now observe my 
directions, and remain quiet.’ 

‘ True, maiden,’ said Ivanhoe, ‘ as quiet as these disquieted 
times will permit. And of Cedric and his household ? ’ 

‘ His steward came but brief while since,’ said the Jewess, 
‘ panting with haste, to ask my father for certain monies, the 
price of wool, the growth of Cedric’s flocks, and from him I 
learned that Cedric and Athelstane of Coningsburgh had left 
Prince John’s lodging in high displeasure, and were about to 
set forth on their return homeward.’ 

‘ Went any lady with them to the banquet ? ’ said Wilfred. 

‘ The Lady Eowena,’ said Eebecca, answering the question 
with more precision than it had been asked — ‘the Lady 


IVANHOE 


281 


Rowena went not to the Prince’s feast, and, as the steward 
reported to us, she is now on her journey back to Rotherwood 
with her guardian Cedric. And touching your faithful squire 
Gurth ’ 

^ Ha ! ’ exclaimed the knight, ^ knowest thou his name ? 
But thou dost,’ he immediately added, ^ and well thou mayst, 
for it was from thy hand, and, as I am now convinced, from 
thine own generosity of spirit, that he received but yesterday a 
hundred zecchins.’ 

‘ Speak not of that,’ said Rebecca, blushing deeply ; ^ I see 
how easy it is for the tongue to betray what the heart would 
gladly conceal.’ 

^ But this sum of gold,’ said Ivanhoe, gravely, ‘ my honour 
is concerned in repaying it to your father.’ 

^ Let it be as thou wilt,’ said Rebecca, ^ when eight days have 
passed away ; but think not, and speak not, now of aught that 
may retard thy recovery.’ 

^ Be it so, kind maiden,’ said Ivanhoe ; ^ I were naost un- 
grateful to dispute thy commands. But one word of the fate 
of poor Gurth, and I have done with questioning thee.’ 

‘ I grieve to tell thee, Sir Knight,’ answered the Jewess, 
^ that he is in custody by the order of Cedric.’ And then ob- 
serving the distress which her communication gave to Wil- 
fred, she instantly added, ^ But the steward Oswald said, that 
if nothing occurred to renew his master’s displeasure against 
him, he was sure that Cedric would pardon Gurth, a faithful 
serf, and one who stood high in favour, and who had but 
committed this error out of the love which he bore to Cedric’s 
son. And he said, moreover, that he and his comrades, and 
especially Wamba, the Jester, were resolved to warn Gurth to 
make his escape by the way, in case Cedric’s ire against him 
could not be mitigated.’ 

^ Would to God they may keep their purpose ! ’ said Ivanhoe ; 
^ but it seems as if I were destined to bring ruin on whomso- 
ever hath shown kindness to me. My king, by whom I was 
honoured and distinguished — thou seest that the brother most 
indebted to him is raising his arms to grasp his crown; my 
regard hath brought restraint and trouble on the fairest of 
her sex; and now my father in his mood may slay this poor 
bondsman, but for his love and loyal service to me ! Thou 
seest, maiden, what an ill-fated wretch thou dost labour to 
assist ; be wise, and let me go, ere the misfortunes which track 


282 


IVANHOE 


my footsteps like slot-hounds shall involve thee also in their 
pursuit/ 

^Nay/ said Kebecca, ‘thy weakness and thy grief, Sir 
Knight, make thee miscalculate the purposes of Heaven. 
Thou hast been restored to thy country when it most needed 
the assistance of a strong hand and a true heart, and thou hast 
humbled the pride of thine enemies and those of thy king, 
when their horn was most highly exalted; and for the evil 
which thou hast sustained, seest thou not that Heaven has 
raised thee a helper and a physician, even among the most 
despised of the land? Therefore, be of good courage, and 
trust that thou art preserved for some marvel which thine 
arm shall work before this people. Adieu ; and having taken 
the medicine which I shall send thee by the hand of Keuben, 
compose thyself again to rest, that thou mayst be the more 
able to endure the journey on the succeeding day.’" 

Ivanhoe was convinced by the reasoning, and obeyed the 
directions, of Eebecca. The draught which Keuben admin- 
istered was of a sedative and narcotic quality, and secured the 
patient sound and undisturbed slumbers. In the morning his 
kind physician found him entirely free from feverish symp- 
toms, and fit to undergo the fatigue of a journey. 

He was deposited in the horse-litter which had brought him 
from the lists, and every precaution taken for his travelling 
with ease. In one circumstance only even the entreaties of 
Eebecca were unable to secure sufficient attention to the ac- 
commodation of the wounded knight. Isaac, like the enriched 
traveller of Juvenal’s Tenth Satire, had ever the fear of rob- 
bery before his eyes, ^ conscious that he would be alike ac- 
counted fair game by the marauding Norman noble and by the 
Saxon outlaw. He therefore journeyed at a great rate, and 
made short halts and shorter repasts, so that he passed by 
Cedric and Athelstane, who had several hours the start of 
him, but who had been delayed by their protracted feasting 
at the convent of St. Withold’s. Yet such was the cirtue of 
Miriam’s balsam, or such the strength of Ivanhoe’s constitu- 
tion, that he did not sustain from the hurried journey that 
inconvenience which his kind physician had apprehended. 

In another point of view, however, the Jew’s haste proved 
somewhat more than good speed. The rapidity with which he 
insisted on travelling bred several disputes between him and 
the party whom he had hired to attend him as a guard. These 


IVANHOE 


283 


men were Saxons, and not free by any means from the na- 
tional love of ease and good living which the Normans stigma- 
tised as laziness and gluttony. Reversing Shylock’s position, 
they had accepted the employment in hopes of feeding upon 
the wealthy Jew, and were very much displeased when they 
found themselves disappointed by the rapidity with which he 
insisted on their proceeding. They remonstrated also upon 
the risk of damage to their horses by these forced marches. 
Finally, there arose betwixt Isaac and his satellites a deadly 
feud concerning the quantity of wine and ale to be allowed for 
consumption at each meal. And thus it happened, that when 
the alarm of danger approached, and that which Isaac feared 
was likely to come upon him, he was deserted by the discon- 
tented mercenaries, on whose protection he had relied without 
using the means necessary to secure their attachment. 

In this deplorable condition, the Jew, with his daughter and 
her wounded patient, were found by Cedric, as has already 
been noticed, and soon afterwards fell into the power of De 
Bracy and his confederates. Little notice was at first taken of 
the horse-litter, and it might have remained behind but for the 
curiosity of De Bracy, who looked into it under the impression 
that it might contain the object of his enterprise, for Rowena 
had not unveiled herself. But De Bracy’s astonishment was 
considerable when he discovered that the litter contained a 
wounded man, who, conceiving himself to have fallen into 
the power of Saxon outlaws, with whom his name might be a 
protection for himself and his friends, frankly avowed himself 
to be Wilfred of Ivanhoe. 

The ideas of chivalrous honour, which, amidst his wildness 
and levity, never utterly abandoned De Bracy, prohibited him 
from doing the knight any injury in his defenceless condi- 
tion, and equally interdicted his betraying him to Front-de- 
Boeuf, who would have had no scruples to put to death, under 
any circumstances, the rival claimant of the fief of Ivanhoe. 
On the other hand, to liberate a suitor preferred by the Lady 
Rowena, as the events of the tournament, and indeed Wilfred^s 
previous banishment from his father’s house, had made matter 
of notoriety, was a pitch far above the flight of De Bracy’s 
generosity. A middle course betwixt good and evil was all 
which he found himself capable of adopting, and he com- 
manded two of his own squires to keep close by the litter, and 
to suffer no one to approach it. If questioned, they were 


284 


IVANHOE 


directed by their master to say that the empty litter of the 
Lady Kowena was employed to transport one of their com- 
rades who had been wounded in the scuffle. On arriving at 
Torquilstone, while the Knight Templar and the lord of that 
castle were each intent upon their own schemes, the one on 
the Jew’s treasure, and the other on his daughter, De Bracy’s 
squires conveyed Ivanhoe, still under the name of a wounded 
comrade, to a distant apartment. This explanation was ac- 
cordingly returned by these men to Front-de-Boeuf, when he 
questioned them why they did not make for the battlements 
upon the alarm. 

^ A wounded companion ! ’ he replied in great wrath and 
astonishment. ^ No wonder that churls and yeomen wax so 
presumptuous as even to lay leaguer before castles, and that 
clowns and swineherds send defiances to nobles, since men-at- 
arms have turned sick men’s nurses, and Free Companions are 
grown keepers of dying folks’ curtains, when the castle is 
about to be assailed. To the battlements, ye loitering vil- 
lains ! ’ he exclaimed, raising his stentorian voice till the 
arches around rung again — ^to the battlements, or I will 
splinter your bones with this truncheon ! ’ 

The men sulkily replied, ^ That they desired nothing better 
than to go to the battlements, providing Front-de-Boeuf would 
bear them out with their master, who had commanded them 
to tend the dying man.’ 

‘ The dying man, knaves ! ’ rejoined the baron ; ^ I promise 
thee, we shall all be dying men an we stand not to it the more 
stoutly. But I will relieve the guard upon this caitiff com- 
panion of yours. Here, Urfried — hag — fiend of a Saxon witch 
— hearest me not? Tend me this bedridden fellow, since he 
must needs be tended, whilst these knaves use their weapons. 
Here be two arblasts, comrades, with windlaces and quarrells * 
— to the barbican with you, and see you drive each bolt 
through a Saxon brain.’ 

The men, who, like most of their description, were fond of 
enterprise and detested inaction, went joyfully to the scene 
of danger as they were commanded, and thus the charge of 
Ivanhoe was transferred to Urfried, or Ulrica. But she, 
whose brain was burning with remembrance of injuries and 
with hopes of vengeance, was readily induced to devolve upon 
Eebecca the care of her patient. 

* See Arblast, etc. Note 15. 


IVANHOE 


385 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

This chapter is explanatory, groing back in part to incidents that oc- 
curred on the evening after the tournament and closing with the convey- 
ance of Ivauhoe to the Castle. 

Should not this information have been given earlier ? 

How was Isaac of York prevailed upon to aid the wounded Ivanhoe 7 
Where did he intend to leave him ? 

What motives had the Jew for conveying Ivanhoe to York ? 

Why was he deserted by his Saxon guard ? 

How did De Bracy come to discover the identity of Ivanhoe 7 
What motives led him to guard his secret ? 

In what way is shown Ivanhoe’s prejudice against the Jews 7 
Can you point out and explain the Scriptural allusions in this chapter 7 


CHAPTEE XXIX 


Ascend the watch-tower yonder, valiant soldier, 

Look on the field, and say how goes the battle. 

Schiller’s Maid of Orleans. 

A MOMENT of peril is often also a moment of open-hearted 
kindness and affection. We are thrown off our guard by the 
general agitation of our feelings, and betray the intensity of 
those which, at more tranquil periods, our prudence at least 
conceals, if it cannot altogether suppress them. In finding 
herself once more by the side of Ivanhoe, Eebecca was aston- 
ished at the keen sensation of pleasure which she experienced, 
even at a time when all around them both was danger, if not 
despair. As she felt his pulse, and inquired after his health, 
there was a softness in her touch and in her accents, implying 
a kinder interest than she would herself have been pleased to 
have voluntarily expressed. Her voice faltered and her hand 
trembled, and it was only the cold question of Ivanhoe, ^ Is it 
you, gentle maiden ? ’ which recalled her to herself, and re- 
minded her the sensations which she felt were not and could 
not be mutual. A sigh escaped, but it was scarce audible ; and 
the questions which she asked the knight concerning his state 
of health were put in the tone of calm friendship. Ivanhoe 
answered her hastily that he was, in point of health, as well, 
and better, than he could have expected. ‘ Thanks,’ he said, 
' dear Eebecca, to thy helpful skill.’ 

^ He calls me dear Eebecca,’ said the maiden to herself, ^ but 
it is in the cold and careless tone which ill suits the word. His 
war-horse, his hunting hound, are dearer to him than the 
despised J ewess ! ’ 

"My mind, gentle maiden,’ continued Ivanhoe, "is more 
disturbed by anxiety than my body with pain. From the 
speeches of these men who were my warders just now, I learn 
that I am a prisoner, and, if I judge aright of the loud hoarse 
voice which even now despatched them hence on some military 
duty, I am in the castle of Front-de-Boeuf. If so, how will 
this end, or how can I protect Eowena and my father ? ’ 

" He names not the Jew or Jewess,’ said Eebecca, internally; 

286 


IVANHOE 


287 


* yet what is oiir portion in him, and how justly am I punished 
by Heaven for letting my thoughts dwell upon him ! " She 
hastened after this brief self-accusation to give Ivanhoe what 
information she could ; but it amounted only to this, that the 
Templar Bois-Guilbert and the Baron Front-de-Boeuf were 
commanders within the castle; that it was beleaguered from 
without, but by whom she knew not. She added, that there 
was a Christian priest within the castle who might be possessed 
of more information. 

^ A Christian priest ! ’ said the knight, joyfully ; ^ fetch him 
hither, Eebecca, if thou canst. Say a sick man desires his 
ghostly counsel — say what thou wilt, but bring him; some- 
thing I must do or attempt, but how can I determine until I 
know how matters stand without ? ’ 

Eebecca, in compliance with the wishes of Ivanhoe, made 
that attempt to bring Cedric into the wounded knight’s cham- 
ber which was defeated, as we have already seen, by the 
interference of Urfried, who had been also on the watch to 
intercept the supposed monk. Eebecca retired to communi- 
cate to Ivanhoe the result of her errand. 

They had not much leisure to regret the failure of this 
source of intelligence, or to contrive by what means it might 
be supplied ; for the noise within the castle, occasioned by the 
defensive preparations, which had been considerable for some 
time, now increased into tenfold bustle and clamour. The 
heavy yet hasty step of the men-at-arms traversed the battle- 
ments, or resounded on the narrow and winding passages and 
stairs which led to the various bartizans, and points of defence. 
The voices of the knights were heard, animating their follow- 
ers, or directing means of defence, while their commands were 
often drowned in the clashing of armour, or the clamorous 
shouts of those whom they addressed. Tremendous as these' 
sounds were, and yet more terrible from the awful event which 
they presaged, there was a sublimity mixed with them which 
Eebecca’s high-toned mind could feel even in that moment of 
terror. Her eye kindled, although the blood fled from her 
cheeks; and there was a strong mixture of fear, and of a 
thrilling sense of the sublime, as she repeated, half-whisper- 
ing to herself, half-speaking to her companion, the sacred text 
— ‘ The quiver rattleth — ^the glittering spear and the shield — 
the noise of the captains and the shouting ! ’ 

But Ivanhoe was like the war-horse of that sublime passage, 


288 


IVANHOE 


glowing with impatience at his inactivity, and with his ardent 
desire to mingle in the atfray of which these sounds were the 
introduction. ' If I could but drag myself,’ he said, ' to yon- 
der window, that I might see how this brave game is like to 
go ! If I had but bow to shoot a shaft, or battle-axe to strike 
were it but a single blow for our deliverance ! It is in vain — 
it is in vain — I am alike nerveless and weaponless ! ’ 

‘Fret not thyself, noble knight,’ answered Eebecca, ‘the 
sounds have ceased of a sudden; it may be they join not 
battle.’ 

‘ Thou knowest nought of it,’ said Wilfred, impatiently ; 

‘ this dead pause only shows that the men are at their posts on 
the walls, and expecting an instant attack; what we have 
heard was but the distant muttering of the storm : it will burst 
anon in all its fury. Could I but reach yonder window ! ’ 

‘ Thou wilt but injure thyself by the attempt, noble knight,’ 
replied his attendant. Observing his extreme solicitude, she 
firmly added, ‘I myself will stand at the lattice, and de- 
scribe to you as I can what passes without.’ 

‘ You must not — you shall not !’ exclaimed Ivanhoe. ‘ Each 
lattice, each aperture, will be soon a mark for the archers; 
some random shaft ’ 

‘ It shall be welcome ! ’ murmured Eebecca, as with firm 
pace she ascended two or three steps, which led to the window 
of which they spoke. 

‘ Eebecca — dear Eebecca ! ’ exclaimed Ivanhoe, ‘ this is no 
maiden’s pastime ; do not expose thyself to wounds and death, 
and render me for ever miserable for having given the occa- 
sion; at least, cover thyself with yonder ancient buckler, and 
show as little of your person at the lattice as may be.’ 

Following with wonderful promptitude the directions of 
Ivanhoe, and availing herself of the protection of the large 
ancient shield, which she placed against the lower part of the 
window, Eebecca, with tolerable security to herself, could wit- 
ness part of what was passing without the castle, and report 
to Ivanhoe the preparations which the assailants were making 
for the storm. Indeed, the situation which she thus obtained 
was peculiarly favourable for this purpose, because, being 
placed on an angle of the main building, Eebecca could not 
only see what passed beyond the precincts of the castle, but 
also commanded a view of the outwork likely to be the first 
object of the meditated assault. It was an exterior fortifica- 


IVANHOE 


289 


tion of no great height or strength, intended to protect the 
postern-gate, through which Cedric had been recently dis- 
missed by Front-de-Boeuf. The castle moat divided this 
species of barbican from the rest of the fortress, so that, in case 
of its being taken, it was easy to cut off the communication 
with the main building, by withdrawing the temporary bridge. 
In the outwork was a sallyport corresponding to the postern 
of the castle, and the whole was surrounded by a strong pali- 
sade. Rebecca could observe, from the number of men placed 
for the defence of this post, that the besieged entertained 
apprehensions for its safety; and from the mustering of the 
assailants in a direction nearly opposite to the outwork, it 
seemed no less plain that it had been selected as a vulnerable 
point of attack. 

These appearances she hastily communicated to Ivanhoe, 
and added, ^ The skirts of the wood seem lined with archers, 
although only a few are advanced from its dark shadow.^ 

^ Under what banner ? ’ asked Ivanhoe. 

‘Under no ensign of war which I can observe,^ answered 
Rebecca. 

‘A singular novelty,’ muttered the knight, ‘to advance to 
storm such a castle without pennon or banner displayed! 
Seest thou who they be that act as leaders ? ’ 

‘ A knight, clad in sable armour, is the most conspicuous,’ 
said the Jewess; ‘he alone is armed from head to heel, and 
seems to assume the direction of all around him.’ 

‘ What device does he bear on his shield ? ’ replied Ivanhoe. 

‘ Something resembling a bar of iron, and a padlock painted 
blue on the black shield.’ * 

‘A fetterlock and shackle-bolt azure,’ said Ivanhoe; ‘I 
know not who may bear the device, but well I ween it might 
now be mine own. Canst thou not see the motto ? ’ 

‘ Scarce the device itself at this distance,’ replied Rebecca ; 
‘ but when the sun glances fair upon his shield it shows as I 
tell you.’ 

‘ Seem there no other leaders ? ’ exclaimed the anxious in- 
quirer. 

‘ None of mark and distinction that I can behold from this 
station,’ said Rebecca; ‘but doubtless the other side of the 
castle is also assailed. They appear even now preparing to 
advance — God of Zion protect us! What a dreadful sight! 

* See Heraldry. Note 16. 


290 


IVANHOE 


Those who advance first bear huge shields and defences made 
of plank ; the others follow, bending their bows as they come 
on. They raise their bows ! God of Moses, forgive the crea- 
tures Thou hast made ! ’ 

Her description was here suddenly interrupted by the signal 
for assault, which was given by the blast of a shrill bugle, and 
at once answered by a flourish of the Norman trumpets from 
the battlements, which, mingled with the deep and hollow 
clang of the makers (a species of kettle-drum), retorted in 
notes of defiance the challenge of the enemy. The shouts of 
both parties augmented the fearful din, the assailants crying, 
‘ St. George for merry England ! ^ and the Normans answering 
them with loud cries of * En avant De Bracy! Beau-seant ! 
Beau-seant! Front-de-Boeuf d la rescousse!* according to the 
war-cries of their different commanders. 

It was not, however, by clamour that the contest w^as to be 
decided, and the desperate efforts of the assailants were met by 
an equally vigorous defence on the part of the besieged. The 
archers, trained by their woodland pastimes to the most ef- 
fective use of the long-bow, shot, to use the appropriate phrase 
of the time, so ^wholly together,’ that no point at which a 
defender could show the least part of his person escaped their 
cloth-yard shafts. By this heavy discharge, which continued 
as thick and sharp as hail, while, notwithstanding, every arrow 
had its individual aim, and flew by scores together against 
each embrasure and opening in the parapets, as well as at 
every window where a defender either occasionally had post, 
or might be suspected to be stationed — by this sustained dis- 
charge, two or three of the garrison were slain and several 
others wounded. But, confident in their armour of proof, 
and in the cover which their situation afforded, the followers 
of Front-de-Bocuf and his allies showed an obstinacy in de- 
fence proportioned to the fury of the attack, and replied with 
the discharge of their large cross-bows, as well as with their 
long-bows, slings, and other missile weapons, to the close and 
continued shower of arrows ; and, as the assailants were neces- 
sarily but indifferently protected, did considerably more dam- 
age than they received at their hand. The whizzing of shafts 
and of missiles on both sides was only interrupted by the 
shouts which arose when either side inflicted or sustained 
some notable loss. 

‘And I must lie here like a bedridden monk,’ exclaimed 


IVANHOE 


291 


Ivanhoe, ^ while the game that gives me freedom or death is 
played out by the hand of others! Look from the window 
once again, kind maiden, but beware that you are not marked 
by the archers beneath. Look out once more, and tell me if 
they yet advance to the storm.^ 

With patient courage, strengthened by the interval which 
she had employed in mental devotion, Kebecca again took post 
at the lattice, sheltering herself, however, so as not to be visible 
from beneath. 

* What dost thou see, Kebecca ? ’ again demanded the 
wounded knight. 

^ Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to dazzle 
mine eyes, and to hide the bowmen who shoot them.’ 

‘ That cannot endure,’ said Ivanhoe ; ^ if they press not 
right on to carry the castle by pure force of arms, the archery 
may avail but little against stone walls and bulwarks. Look 
for the Knight of the Fetterlock, fair Rebecca, and see how he 
bears himself ; for as the leader is, so will his followers be.’ 

‘ I see him not ! ’ said Rebecca. 

^ Foul craven ! ’ exclaimed Ivanhoe ; * does he blench from 
the helm when the wind blows highest ? ’ 

‘ He blenches not ! — he blenches not ! ’ said Rebecca, ^ I see 
him now ; he leads a body of men close under the outer barrier 
of the barbican.* They pull down the piles and palisades; 
they hew down the barriers with axes. His high black plume 
floats abroad over the throng, like a raven over the fleld of the 
slain. They have made a breach in the barriers — they rush 
in — they are thrust back ! Front-de-Boeuf heads the defend- 
ers; I see his gigantic form above the press. They throng 
again to the breach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand, 
and man to man. God of Jacob! it is the meeting of two 
flerce tides — the conflict of two oceans moved by adverse 
winds ! ’ 

She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable longer to 
endure a sight so terrible. 

‘Look forth again, Rebecca,’ said Ivanhoe, mistaking the 
cause of her retiring ; ‘ the archery must in some degree have 
ceased, since they are now flghting hand to hand. Look again, 
there is now less danger.’ 

Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately ex- 
claimed, ‘ Holy prophets of the law ! Front-de-Boeuf and the 
* See Barriers. Note 17. 


292 


IVANHOE 


Black Knight fight hand to hand on the breach, amid the roar 
of their followers, who watch the progress of the strife. 
Heaven strike with the cause of the oppressed and of the cap- 
tive ! ’ She then uttered a loud shriek, and exclaimed, ^ He 
is down ! — he is down ! ’ 

^ Who is down?^ cried Ivanhoe; ^ f or our dear Lady’s sake, 
tell me which has fallen ? ’ 

^The Black Knight,’ answered Eebecca, faintly; theli in- 
stantly again shouted with joyful eagerness — ^ But no — but 
no ! the name of the Lord of Hosts be blessed ! he is on foot 
again, and fights as if there were twenty men’s strength in his 
single arm. His sword is broken — he snatches an axe from a 
yeoman — he presses Front-de-Boeuf with blow on blow. The 
giant stoops and totters like an oak under the steel of the 
woodman — he falls — he falls ! ’ 

^ Front-de-Boeuf ? ’ exclaimed Ivanhoe. 

^Front-de-Boeuf,’ answered the Jewess. ^ His men rush to 
the rescue, headed by the haughty Templar ; their united force 
compels the champion to pause. They drag Front-de-Boeuf 
within the walls.’ 

^ The assailants have won the barriers, have they not ? ’ said 
Ivanhoe. 

' They have — they have ! ’ exclaimed Eebecca ; ^ and they 
press the besieged hard upon the outer wall; some plant 
ladders, some swarm like bees, and endeavour to ascend upon 
the shoulders of each other; down go stones, beams, and 
trunks of trees upon their heads, and as fast as they bear the 
wounded to the rear, fresh men supply their places in the 
assault. Great God ! hast Thou given men Thine own image 
that it should be thus cruelly defaced by the hands of their 
brethren ! ’ 

^ Think not of that,’ said Ivanhoe; ^ this is no time for such 
thoughts. Who yield ? who push their way ? ’ 

^ The ladders are thrown down,’ replied Eebecca, shudder- 
ing ; ^ the soldiers lie grovelling under them like crushed rep- 
tiles. The besieged have the better.’ 

^ St. George strike for us ! ’ exclaimed the knight ; ^ do the 
false yeomen give way ? ’ 

^Ko!’ exclaimed Eebecca, ^they bear themselves right 
yeomanly. The Black Knight approaches the postern with his 
huge axe ; the thundering blows which he deals, you may hear 
them above all the din and shouts of the battle. Stones and 


IVANHOE 


293 


beams are hailed down on the bold champion : he regards them 
no more than if they were thistle-down or feathers ! ’ 

^ By St. John of Acre/ said Ivanhoe, raising himself joy- 
fully on his couch, ‘methought there was but one man in 
England that might do such a deed ! ’ 

‘The postern gate shakes/ continued Eebecca — ‘it crashes 
— it is splintered by his blows — they rush in — the outwork is 
won. Oh God ! they hurl the defenders from the battlements 
— they throw them into the moat. 0 men, if ye be indeed 
men, spare them that can resist no longer ! ^ 

‘ The bridge — the bridge which communicates with the 
castle — have they won that pass ? ^ exclaimed Ivanhoe. 

‘ No/ replied Eebecca ; ‘ the Templar has destroyed the 
plank on which they crossed; few of the defenders escaped 
with him into the castle — the shrieks and cries which 3 ^ou hear 
tell the fate of the others. Alas ! I see it is still more difficult 
to look upon victory than upon battle.^ 

‘ AVhat do they now, maiden ? ^ said Ivanhoe ; ‘ look forth 
yet again — this is no time to faint at bloodshed.^ 

‘ It is over for the time/ answered Eebecca ; ‘ our friends 
strengthen themselves within the outwork which they have 
mastered, and it affords them so good a shelter from the foe- 
men’s shot that the garrison only bestow a few bolts on it 
from interval to interval, as if rather to disquiet than effect- 
ually to injure them.’ 

‘ Our friends/ said Wilfred, ‘ will surely not abandon an 
enterprise so gloriously begun and so happily attained. 0 no ! 
I will put my faith in the good knight whose axe hath rent 
heart -of-oak and bars of iron. Singular/ he again muttered 
to himself, ‘ if there be two who can do a deed of such derring- 
do! A fetterlock, and a shackle-bolt on a field sable — what 
may that mean? Seest thou nought else, Eebecca, by which 
the Black Knight may be distinguished ? ’ 

‘ Nothing,’ said the Jewess ; ‘ all about him is black as the 
wing of the night raven. Nothing can I spy that can mark 
him further ; but having once seen him put forth his strength 
in battle, methinks I could know him again among a thou- 
sand warriors. He rushes to the fray as if he were summoned 
to a banquet. There is more than mere strength — there seems 
as if the whole soul and spirit of the champion were given 
to every blow which he deals upon his enemies. God assoilzie 
him of the sin of bloodshed! It is fearful, yet magnificent. 


294 


IVANHOE 


to behold how the arm and heart of one man can triumph 
over hundreds/ 

^ Eebecca/ said Ivanhoe, ^ thou hast painted a hero ; surely 
they rest but to refresh their force, or to provide the means of 
crossing the moat. Under such a leader as thou hast spoken 
this knight to be, there are no craven fears, no cold-blooded 
delays, no yielding up a gallant emprize, since the difficulties 
which render it arduous render it also glorious. I swear by 
the honour of my house — I vow hy the name of my bright 
lady-love, I would endure ten years’ captivity to fight one day 
hy that good knight’s side in such a quarrel as this ! ’ 

^ Alas ! ’ said Rebecca, leaving her station at the window, 
and approaching the couch of the wounded knight, ^ this im- 
patient yearning after action — this struggling with and re- 
pining at your present weakness, will not fail to injure your 
returning health. How couldst thou hope to inflict wounds on 
others, ere that be healed which thou thyself hast received ? ’ 

^ Rebecca,’ he replied, ^ thou knowest not how impossible it 
is for one trained to actions of chivalry to remain passive as a 
priest, or a woman, when they are acting deeds of honour 
around him. The love of battle is the food upon which we live 
— the dust of the meUe is the breath of our nostrils ! We live 
not — we wish not to live — longer than while we are victorious 
and renowned. Such, maiden, are the laws of chivalry to 
which we are sworn, and to which we offer all that we hold 
dear.’ 

^ Alas ! ’ said the fair J ewess, ^ and what is it, valiant knight, 
save an offering of sacrifice to a demon of vain glory, and a 
passing through the Are to Moloch ? What remains to you as 
the prize of all the blood you have spilled, of all the travail 
and pain you have endured, of all the tears which your deeds 
have caused, when death hath broken the strong man’s spear, 
and overtaken the speed of his war-horse ? ’ 

‘ What remains ? ’ cried Ivanhoe. ^ Glory, maiden — glory ! 
which gilds our sepulchre and embalms our name.’ 

^ Glory ! ’ continued Rebecca ; ‘ alas ! is the rusted mail 
which hangs as a hatchment over the champion’s dim and 
mouldering tomb, is the defaced sculpture of the inscription 
which the ignorant monk can hardly read to the inquiring 
pilgrim — are these sufficient rewards for the sacrifice of every 
kindly affection, for a life spent miserably that ye may make 
others miserable ? Or is there such virtue in the rude rhymes 


IVANHOE 


295 


of a wandering bard, that domestic love, kindly affection, 
peace and happiness, are so wildly bartered, to become the 
hero of those ballads which vagabond minstrels sing to 
drunken churls over their evening ale ? ’ 

‘ By the soul of Hereward ! ’ replied the knight, impatiently, 
‘thou speakest, maiden, of thou knowest not what. Thou 
wouldst quench the pure light of chivalry, which alone dis- 
tinguishes the noble from the base, the gentle knight from the 
churl and the savage ; which rates our life far, far beneath the 
pitch of our honour, raises us victorious over pain, toil, and 
suffering, and teaches us to fear no evil but disgrace. Thou 
art no Christian, Eebecca; and to thee are unknown those 
high feelings which swell the bosom of a noble maiden when 
her lover hath done some deed of emprize which sanctions his 
flame. Chivalry ! Why, maiden, she is the nurse of pure and 
high affection, the stay of the oppressed, the redresser of 
grievances, the curb of the power of the tyrant. Nobility were 
but an empty name without her, and liberty finds the best 
protection in her lance and her sword.’ 

‘I am, indeed,’ said Eebecca, ‘sprung from a race whose 
courage was distinguished in the defence of their own land, 
but who warred not, even while yet a nation, save at the com- 
mand of the Deity, or in defending their country from op- 
pression. The sound of the trumpet wakes Judah no longer, 
and her despised children are now but the unresisting victims 
of hostile and military oppression. Well hast thou spoken. 
Sir Knight: until the God of Jacob shall raise up for His 
chosen people a second Gideon, or a new Maccabeus, it ill 
beseemeth the Jewish damsel to speak of battle or of war.’ 

The high-minded maiden concluded the argument in a tone 
of sorrow, which deeply expressed her sense of the degradation 
of her people, embittered perhaps by the idea that Ivanhoe 
considered her as one not entitled to interfere in a case of 
honour, and incapable of entertaining or expressing senti- 
ments of honour and generosity. 

‘ How little he knows this bosom,’ she said, ‘ to imagine that 
cowardice or meanness of soul must needs be its guests, 
because I have censured the fantastic chivalry of the Naza- 
renes! Would to Heaven that the shedding of mine own 
blood, drop by drop, could redeem the captivity of Judah! 
Nay, would to God it could avail to set free my father, and 
this his benefactor, from the chains of the oppressor! The 


296 


IVANHOE 


proud Christian should then see whether the daughter of God’s 
chosen people dared not die as bravely as the vainest Nazarene 
maiden, that boasts her descent from some petty chieftain of 
the rude and frozen north ! ’ 

She then looked toward the couch of the wounded knight. 

^ He sleeps,’ she said ; ^ nature exhausted by sufferance and 
the waste of spirits, his wearied frame embraces the first mo- 
ment of temporary relaxation to sink into slumber. Alas ! is 
it a crime that I should look upon him, when it may be for the 
last time ? When yet but a short space, and those fair features 
will be no longer animated by the bold and buoyant spirit 
which forsakes them not even in sleep ! When the nostril 
shall be distended, the mouth agape, the eyes fixed and blood- 
shot; and when the proud and noble knight may be trodden 
on by the lowest caitiff of this accursed castle, yet stir not 
when the heel is lifted up against him! And my father! — 
oh, my father ! evil is it with his daughter, when his grey hairs 
are not remembered because of the golden locks of youth ! 
What know I but that these evils are the messengers of 
Jehovah’s wrath to the unnatural child who thinks of a 
stranger’s captivity before a parent’s ? who forgets the desola- 
tion of Judah, and looks upon the comeliness of a Gentile and 
a stranger ? But I will tear this folly from my heart, though 
every fibre bleed as I rend it away ! ’ 

She wrapped herself closely in her veil, and sat down af a 
distance from the couch of the wounded knight, with her 
back turned towards it, fortifying, or endeavouring to fortify, 
her mind not only against the impending evils from without, 
but also against those treacherous feelings which assailed her 
from within. 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

This piece of indirect narration is one of the most admired passages 
in Scott. It should accordingly be examined with minute care. Had 
Scott described the siege directly just as in the case of the tournament 
at Ashby, it would have been no doubt magnificent. But art gains by 
Scott’s device ; for the Black Knight is prevented from supplanting 
the place of the hero. Our attention is concentrated on the scene within 
the Castle as it affects the helpless Ivanhoe. And yet Rebecca is an 
actor in that case. 

Does not Rebecca from this point at least become the heroine ? What 
are ‘ those treacherous feelings which assailed her from within ’ ? 

From what place in the Castle is the siege described ? Go over in 
mind each incident. 


CHAPTEE XXX 

Approach the chamber, look upon his bed, 

His is the passing of no peaceful ghost, 

Which, as the lark arises to the sky, 

’Mid morning’s sweetest breeze and softest dew. 

Is wing’d to heaven by good men’s sighs and tears ! 

Anselm parts otherwise. 

Old Play. 

During the interval of quiet which followed the first success 
of the besiegers, while the one party was preparing to pursue 
their advantage and the other to strengthen their means of 
defence, the Templar and De Bracy held brief counsel to- 
gether in the hall of the castle. 

^ Where is Front-de-Boeuf ? ^ said the latter, who had super- 
intended the defence of the fortress on the other side ; ^ men 
say he hath been slain.^ 

‘ He lives,’ said the Templar, coolly — ^ lives as yet ; but had 
he worn the bull’s head of which he bears the name, and ten 
plates of iron to fence it withal, he must have gone down 
before yonder fatal axe. Yet a few hours, and Eront-de- 
Boeuf is with his fathers — a powerful limb lopped off Prince 
John’s enterprise.’ 

‘ And a brave addition to the kingdom of Satan,’ said De 
Bracy ; ^ this comes of reviling saints and angels, and ordering 
images of holy things and holy men to be flung down on the 
heads of these rascaille yeomen.’ 

^ Go to, thou art a fool,’ said the Templar ; ^ thy supersti- 
tion is upon a level with Front-de-Boeuf’s want of faith; 
neither of you can render a reason for your belief or unbelief.’ 

'' Benedicite, Sir Templar,’ replied De Bracy, ^ I pray you to 
keep better rule with your tongue when I am the theme of it. 
By the Mother of Heaven, I am a better Christian man than 
thou and thy fellowship; for the bruit goeth shrewdly out, 
that the most holy order of the Temple of Zion nurseth not a 
few heretics within its bosom, and that Sir Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert is of the number.’ 


297 


298 


IVANHOE 


^ Care not thou for such reports/ said the Templar ; ' but 
let us think of making good the castle. How fought these 
villain yeomen on thy side ? ’ 

‘ Like fiends incarnate/ said De Bracy. ‘ They swarmed 
close up to the walls, headed, as I think, by the knave who 
won the prize at the archery, for I knew his horn and baldric. 
And this is old Fitzurse’s boasted policy, encouraging these 
malapert knaves to rebel against us ! Had I not been armed 
in proof, the villain had marked me down seven times with 
as little remorse as if I had been a buck in season. He told 
every rivet on my armour with a cloth-yard shaft, that rapped 
against my ribs with as little compunction as if my bones 
had been of iron. But that I wore a shirt of Spanish mail 
under my plate-coat, I had been fairly sped.’ 

^But you maintained your post?’ said the Templar. ^ We 
lost the outwork on our part.’ 

^ That is a shrewd loss/ said De Bracy ; ^ the knaves will 
find cover there to assault the castle more closely, and may, 
if not well watched, gain some unguarded corner of a tower, 
or some forgotten window, and so break in upon us. Our 
numbers are too few for the defence of every point, and the 
men complain that they can nowhere show themselves, but 
they are the mark for as many arrows as a parish-butt on a 
holyday even. Front-de-Boeuf is dying too, so we shall receive 
no more aid from his bull’s head and brutal strength. How 
think you. Sir Brian, were we not better make a virtue of 
necessity, and compound with the rogues by delivering up our 
prisoners ? ’ 

‘ How ! ’ exclaimed the Templar ; ^ deliver up our prisoners, 
and stand an object alike of ridicule and execration, as the 
doughty warriors who dared by a night-attack to possess them- 
selves of the persons of a party of defenceless travellers, yet 
could not make good a strong castle against a vagabond troop 
of outlaws, led by swineherds, jesters, and the very refuse of 
mankind? Shame on thy counsel, Maurice de Braey! The 
ruins of this castle shall bury both my body and my shame, 
ere I consent to such base and dishonourable composition.’ 

' Let us to the walls, then/ said De Bracy, carelessly ; ^ that 
man never breathed, be he Turk or Templar, who held life at 
lighter rate than I do. But I trust there is no dishonour in 
wishing I had here some two scores of my gallant troop of 
Free Companions ? Oh, my brave lances ! if ye knew but how 


IVANHOE 


299 


hard your captain were this day bested, how soon should I see 
my banner at the head of your clump of spears ! And how 
short while would these rabble villains stand to endure your 
encounter ! ’ 

^ Wish for whom thou wilt,’ said the Templar, ^ but let us 
make what defence we can with the soldiers who remain. 
They are chiefly Front-de-Boeufs followers, hated by the 
English for a thousand acts of insolence and oppression.’ 

• ‘ The better,’ said De Bracy ; ^ the rugged slaves will defend 
themselves to the last drop of their blood, ere they encounter 
the revenge of the peasants without. Let us up and be 
doing, then, Brian de Bois-Guilbert ; and, live or die, thou 
shalt see Maurice de Bracy bear himself this day as a gentle- 
man of blood and lineage.’ 

^ To the walls ! ’ answered the Templar ; and they both 
ascended the battlements to do all that skill could dictate, and 
manhood accomplish, in defence of the place. They readily 
agreed that the point of greatest danger was that opposite to 
the outwork of which the assailants had possessed themselves. 
The castle, indeed, was divided from that barbican by the 
moat, and it was impossible that the besiegers could assail the 
postern door, with which the outwork corresponded, without 
surmounting that obstacle ; but it was the opinion both of the 
Templar and De Bracy that the besiegers, if governed by the 
same policy their leader had already displayed, would en- 
deavour, by a formidable assault, to draw the chief part of the 
defenders’ observation to this point, and take measures to 
avail themselves of every negligence which might take place 
in the defence elsewhere. To guard against such an evil, their 
numbers only permitted the knights to place sentinels from 
space to space along the walls in communication with each 
other, who might give the alarm whenever danger was threat- 
ened. Meanwhile, they agreed that De Bracy should command 
the defence at the postern, and the Templar should keep with 
him a score of men or thereabouts as a body of reserve, ready 
to hasten to any other point which might be suddenly threat- 
ened. The loss of the barbican had also this unfortunate 
effect, that, notwithstanding the superior height of the castle 
walls, the besieged could not see from them, with the same 
precision as before, the operations of the enemy; for some 
straggling underwood approached so near the sallyport of the 
outwork that the assailants might introduce into it whatever 


300 


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force they thought proper, not only under cover, but even 
without the knowledge of the defenders. Utterly uncertain, 
therefore, upon what point the storm was to burst, De Bracy 
and his companion were under the necessity of providing 
against every possible contingency, and their followers, how- 
ever brave, experienced the anxious dejection of mind incident 
to men inclosed by enemies, who possessed the power of choos- 
ing their time and mode of attack. 

Meanwhile, the lord of the beleaguered and endangered 
castle lay upon a bed of bodily pain and mental agony. He 
had not the usual resource of bigots in that superstitious 
period, most of whom were wont to atone for the crimes they 
were guilty of by liberality to the church, stupifying by this 
means their terrors by the idea of atonement and forgiveness ; 
and although the refuge which success thus purchased was no 
more like to the peace of mind which follows on sincere re- 
pentance than the turbid stupefaction procured by opium 
resembles healthy and natural slumbers, it was still a state 
of mind preferable to the agonies of awakened remorse. But 
among the vices of Front-de-Boeuf, a hard and griping man, 
avarice was predominant; and he preferred setting church 
and churchmen at defiance to purchasing from them pardon 
and absolution at the price of treasure and of manors. Nor 
did the Templar, an infidel of another stamp, justly character- 
ise his associate when he said Front-de-Bceuf could assign no 
cause for his unbelief and contempt for the established faith ; 
for the baron would have alleged that the church sold her 
wares too dear, that the spiritual freedom which she put up 
to sale was only to be bought, like that of the chief captain of 
Jerusalem, ^with a great sum,’ and Front-de-Boeuf preferred 
denying the virtue of the medicine to paying the expense of 
the physician. 

But the moment had now arrived when earth and all his 
treasures were gliding from before his eyes, and when the 
savage baron’s heart, though hard as a nether millstone, be- 
came appalled as he gazed forward into the waste darkness of 
futurity. The fever of his body aided the impatience and 
agony of his mind, and his death-bed exhibited a mixture of 
the newly-awakened feelings of horror combating with the 
fixed and inveterate obstinacy of his disposition — a fearful 
state of mind, only to be equalled in those tremendous regions 


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301 


where there are complaints without hope, remorse without re- 
pentance, a dreadful sense of present agony, and a presenti- 
ment that it cannot cease or be diminished ! 

^ Where be these dog-priests now,^ growled the baron, ^ who 
set such price on their ghostly mummery ? — where be all those 
unshod Carmelites, for whom old Front-de-Boeuf founded the 
convent of St. Anne, robbing his heir of many a fair rood of 
meadow, and many a fat field and close — where be the greedy 
hounds now? Swilling, I warrant me, at the ale, or playing 
their juggling tricks at the bedside of some miserly churl. 
Me, the heir of their founder — me, whom their foundation 
binds them to pray for — me — ungrateful villains as they are ! 
— they suffer to die like the houseless dog on yonder common, 
unshriven and unhouseled ! Tell the Templar to come hither ; 
he is a priest, and may do something. But no! as well con- 
fess myself to the devil as to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who 
recks neither of Heaven nor of Hell. I have heard old men 
talk of prayer — prayer by their own voice — such need not to 
court or to bribe the false priest. But I — I dare not 1 ’ 

‘Lives Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf,’ said a broken and shrill 
voice close by his bedside, ‘ to say there is that which he dares 
not ? ^ 

The evil conscience and the shaken nerves of Front-de-Boeuf 
heard, in this strange interruption to his soliloquy, the voice of 
one of those demons who, as the superstition of the times 
believed, beset the beds of dying men, to distract their 
thoughts, and turn them from the meditations which con- 
cerned their eternal welfare. He shuddered and drew him- 
self together; but, instantly summoning up his wonted reso- 
lution, he exclaimed, ‘Who is there? what art thou, that 
darest to echo my words in a tone like that of the night- 
raven? Come before my couch that I may see thee.^ 

‘I am thine evil angel, Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf,’ replied 
the voice. 

‘ Let me behold thee then in thy bodily shape, if thou be’st 
indeed a fiend,’ replied the dying knight; ‘think not that I 
will blench from thee. By the eternal dungeons, could I but 
grapple with these horrors that hover round me as I have done 
with mortal dangers. Heaven or Hell should never say that I 
shrunk from the conflict I ’ 

‘Think on thy sins, Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf,’ said the 
almost unearthly voice — ‘ on rebellion, on rapine, on murder I 


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Who stirred up the licentious John to war against his grey- 
headed father — against his generous brother ? ’ 

^ Be thou fiend, priest, or devil,^ replied Front-de-Boeuf, 
‘thou liest in thy throat! Not I stirred John to rebellion — 
not I alone; there were fifty knights and barons, the flower 
of the midland counties, better men never laid lance in rest. 
And must I answer for the fault done by fifty ? False fiend, 
I defy thee ! Depart, and haunt my couch no more. Let me 
die in peace if thou be mortal; if thou be a demon, thy time 
is not yet come.’ 

‘ In peace thou shalt not die,’ repeated the voice ; ‘ even in 
death shalt thou think on thy murders — on the groans which 
this castle has echoed — on the blood that is engrained in its 
floors 1 ’ 

‘ Thou canst not shake me by thy petty malice,’ answered 
Front-de-Boeuf, with a ghastly and constrained laugh. ‘ The 
infidel Jew — it was merit with Heaven to deal with him as I 
did, else wherefore are men canonised who dip their hands in 
the blood of Saracens ? The Saxon porkers whom I have slain 
— they were the foes of my country, and of my lineage, and of 
my liege lord. Ho ! ho ! thou seest there is no crevice in my 
coat of plate. Art thou fled ? art thou silenced ? ’ 

‘ No, foul parricide,’ replied the voice ; ‘ think of thy 
father! — think of his death! — think of his banquet-room 
flooded with his gore, and that poured forth by the hand of a 
son ! ’ 

‘ Ha ! ’ answered the Baron, after a long pause, ‘ an thou 
knowest that, thou art indeed the Author of Evil, and as 
omniscient as the monks call thee! That secret I deemed 
locked in my own breast, and in that of one besides — the 
temptress, the partaker of my guilt. Go, leave me, fiend ! and 
seek the Saxon witch Ulrica, who alone could tell thee what 
she and I alone witnessed. Go, I say, to her, who washed the 
wounds, and straightened the corpse, and gave to the slain 
man the outward show of one parted in time and in the course 
of nature. Go to her; she was my temptress, the foul pro- 
voker, the more foul rewarder, of the deed ; let her, as well as 
I, taste of the tortures which anticipate Hell ! ’ 

‘ She already tastes them,’ said Ulrica, stepping before the 
couch of Front-de-Boeuf ; ‘ she hath long drunken of this cup, 
and its bitterness is now sweetened to see that thou dost par- 
take it. Grind not thy teeth, Front-de-Boeuf— roll not thine 


IVANHOE 


303 


eyes— clench not thy hand, nor shake it at me with that 
gesture of menace! The hand which, like that of thy re- 
nowned ancestor who gained thy name, could have broken 
with one stroke the skull of a mountain-bull, is now unnerved 
and powerless as mine own ! ^ 

^ Vile, murderous hag ! ^ replied Front-de-Boeuf — ‘ detesta- 
ble screech-owl ! it is then thou who art come to exult over the 
ruins thou hast assisted to lay low ? ^ 

^ Ay, Eeginald Front-de-Boeuf,’ answered she, ‘ it is Ulrica ! 
— it is the daughter of the murdered Torquil Wolfganger ! — it 
is the sister of his slaughtered sons ! it is she who demands of 
thee, and of thy father’s house, father and kindred, name and 
fame — all that she has lost by the name of Front-de-Boeuf I 
Think of my wrongs, Front-de-Boeuf, and answer me if I 
speak not truth. Thou hast been my evil angel, and I will be 
thine : I will dog thee till the very instant of dissolution ! ’ 

‘ Detestable fury ! ’ exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, ‘ that mo- 
ment shalt thou never witness. Ho! Giles, Clement, and 
Eustace! St. Maur and Stephen! seize this damned witch, 
and hurl her from the battlements headlong ; she has betrayed 
us to the Saxon! Ho! St. Maur! Clement! false-hearted 
knaves, where tarry ye ? ’ 

‘ Call on them again, valiant baron,’ said the hag, with a 
smile of grisly mockery; ^summon thy vassals around thee, 
doom them that loiter to the scourge and the dungeon. But 
know, mighty chief,’ she continued, suddenly changing her 
tone, ‘ thou shalt have neither answer, nor aid, nor obedience 
at their hands. Listen to these horrid sounds,’ for the din of 
the recommenced assault and defence now rung fearfully loud 
from the battlements of the castle; ^in that war-cry is the 
downfall of thy house. The blood-cemented fabric of Front- 
de-Boeuf’s power totters to the foundation, and before the foes 
he most despised ! The Saxon, Eeginald ! — the scorned Saxon 
assails thy walls ! Why liest thou here, like a worn-out hind, 
when the Saxon storms thy place of strength ? ’ 

‘ Gods and fiends ! ’ exclaimed the wounded knight. ^ 0, for 
one moment’s strength, to drag myself to the mUee, and perish 
as becomes my name ! ’ 

^ Think not of it, valiant warrior ! ’ replied she ; ‘ thou shalt 
die no soldier’s death, but perish like the fox in his den, when 
the peasants have set fire to the cover around it.’ 

^ Hateful hag ! thou liest ! ’ exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf ; ^ my 


304 


IVANHOE 


followers bear them bravely — my walls are strong and high — 
my comrades in arms fear not a whole host of Saxons, were 
they headed by Hengist and Horsa ! The war-cry of the 
Templar and of the Free Companions rises high over the 
conflict ! And by mine honour, when we kindle the blazing 
beacon for joy of our defence, it shall consume thee, body and 
bones; and I shall live to hear thou art gone from earthly 
fires to those of that Hell which never sent forth an incar- 
nate fiend more utterly diabolical ! ^ 

^ Hold thy belief,^ replied Ulrica, ^ till the proof reach thee. 
But no ! ^ she said, interrupting herself, ^ thou shalt know even 
now the doom which all thy power, strength, and courage is 
unable to avoid, though it is prepared for thee by this feeble 
hand. Markest thou the smouldering and suffocating vapour 
which already eddies in sable folds through the chamber? 
Didst thou think it was but the darkening of thy bursting 
eyes, the difficulty of thy cumbered breathing? No! Front- 
de-Boeuf, there is another cause. Eememberest thou the mag- 
azine of fuel that is stored beneath these apartments ? ^ 

^ Woman 1 ^ he exclaimed with fury, ^ thou hast not set fire 
to it ? By Heaven, thou hast, and the castle is in flames ! ’ 

^ They are fast rising at least,^ said Ulrica, with frightful 
composure ; ^ and a signal shall soon wave to warn the be- 
siegers to press hard upon those who would extinguish them. 
Farewell, Front-de-Boeuf ! May Mista, Skogula, and Zerne- 
bock, gods of the ancient Saxons — fiends, as the priests now 
call them — supply the place of comforters at your dying bed, 
which Ulrica now relinquishes 1 But know, if it will give thee 
comfort to know it, that Ulrica is bound to the same dark 
coast with thyself, the companion of thy punishment as the 
companion of thy guilt. And now, parricide, farewell for 
ever! May each stone of this vaulted roof find a tongue to 
echo that title into thine ear ! ’ 

So saying, she left the apartment ; and Front-de-Boeuf could 
hear the crash of the ponderous key as she locked and double- 
locked the door behind her, thus cutting off the most slender 
chance of escape. In the extremity of agony, he shouted upon 
his servants and allies — ^ Stephen and St. Maur ! Clement and 
Giles! I burn here unaided! To the rescue — to the rescue, 
brave Bois-Guilbert, valiant De Bracy ! It is Front-de-Boeuf 
who calls ! It is your master, ye traitor squires ! Your ally — 
your brother in arms, ye perjured and faithless knights ! All 


IVANHOE 


305 


the curses due to traitors upon your recreant heads, do you 
abandon me to perish thus miserably ! They hear me not — 
they cannot hear me — my voice is lost in the din of battle. 
The smoke rolls thicker and thicker, the fire has caught upon 
the floor below. 0, for one draught of the air of heaven, were 
it to be purchased by instant annihilation ! ’ And in the mad 
frenzy of despair, the wretch now shouted with the shouts of 
the fighters, now muttered curses on himself, on mankind, and 
on Heaven itself. ^ The red fire flashes through the thick 
smoke ! ^ he exclaimed ; ^ the demon marches against me under 
the banner of his own element. Foul spirit, avoid ! I go not 
with thee without my comrades — all, all are thine that garri- 
son these walls. Thinkest thou Front-de-Boeuf will be singled 
out to go alone ? No ; the infidel Templar, the licentious De 
Bracy, Ulrica, the foul murdering strumpet, the men who 
aided my enterprises, the dog Saxons and accursed Jews who 
are my prisoners — all, all shall attend me — a goodly fellow- 
ship as ever took the downward road. Ha, ha, ha ! ^ and he 
laughed in his frenzy till the vaulted roof rang again. ^ Who 
laughed there exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf, in altered mood, 
for the noise of the conflict did not prevent the echoes of his 
own mad laughter from returning upon his ear — ^ who 
laughed there ? Ulrica, was it thou ? Speak, witch, and I for- 
give thee; for only thou or the Fiend of Hell himself could 

have laughed at such a moment. Avaunt — avaunt ’ 

But it were impious to trace any farther the picture of the 
blasphemer and parricide’s death-bed. 

COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

In the first part of this chapter the siee:e is viewed from another stand- 
point— that of the defenders. 

What is the situation as the leaders once more ascend the battle- 
ments ? 

How is the defence of the Castle divided between them ? 

In what way does I^ocksley show his skill with bow and arrow ? 

The second part is devoted to the last scene between Ulrica and Front- 
de-Boeuf. But the two parts form a unit inasmuch as attention is 
centered on Front-de-Boeuf. At this point study the character of this 
Norman Baron. 

By whom is he wounded ? 


306 


lYANHOE 


What is said of him by his companions ? 

What is learned of him from Ulrica ? 

Do you think he would be a more natural character if he were given 
some good qualities ? 

How does Scott bring out clearly his avarice and superstition ? 

Is the scene between him and Ulrica well managed for dramatic 
effect ? 

Why is the death-scene broken off? 

How is Ulrica aiding the besiegers ? 

What are her motives ? 


CHAPTEE XXXI 


Once more unto the breach, dear friend, once more, 

Or close the wall up with our English dead. 

. . . And you, good yeomen, 

Whose limbs were made in England, show us here 
The mettle of your pasture— let us swear 
That you are worth your breeding. 

King Henry V. 

Cedric, although not greatly confident in Ulrica’s message, 
omitted not to communicate her promise to the Black Knight 
and Locksley. They were well pleased to find they had a 
friend within the place, who might, in the moment of need, be 
able to facilitate their entrance, and readily agreed with the 
Saxon that a storm, under whatever disadvantages, ought to 
be attempted, as the only means of liberating the prisoners 
now in the hands of the cruel Front-de-Boeuf. 

^ The royal blood of Alfred is endangered,’ said Cedric. 

^ The honour of a noble lady is in peril,’ said the Black 
Knight. 

^ And, by the St. Christopher at my baldric,’ said the good 
yeoman, ^were there no other cause than the safety of that 
poor faithful knave, Wamba, I would jeopard a joint ere a 
hair of his head were hurt.’ 

^ And so would I,’ said the Friar ; ^ what, sirs ! I trust well 
that a fool — I mean, d’ye see me, sirs, a fool that is free of his 
guild and master of his craft, and can give as much relish and 
flavour to a cup of wine as ever a flitch of bacon can — I say, 
brethren, such a fool shall never want a wise clerk to pray for 
or fight for him at a strait, while I can say a mass or flourish a 
partizan.’ 

And with that he made his heavy halberd to play around 
his head as a shepherd boy flourishes his light crook. 

^ True, holy clerk,’ said the Black Knight — ' true as if St. 
Dunstan himself had said it. And now, good Locksley, were 
it not well that noble Cedric should assume the direction of 
this assault ? ’ 

^ Not a jot I,’ returned Cedric; ‘ I have never been wont to 
307 


308 


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study either how to take or how to hold out those abodes of 
tyrannic power which the Normans have erected in this groan- 
ing land. I will fight among the foremost; but my honest 
neighbours well know I am not a trained soldier in the disci- 
pline of wars or the attack of strongholds.’ 

^ Since it stands thus with noble Cedric/ said Locksley, " I 
am most willing to take on me the direction of the archery; 
and ye shall hang me up on my own trysting-tree an the de- 
fenders be permitted to show themselves over the walls with- 
out being stuck with as many shafts as there are cloves in a 
gammon of bacon at Christmas.’ 

‘Well said, stout yeoman/ answered the Black Knight; 
‘ and if I be thought worthy to have a charge in these matters, 
and can find among these brave men as many as are willing 
to follow a true English knight, for so I may surely call my- 
self, I am ready, with such skill as my experience has taught 
me, to lead them to the attack of these walls.’ 

The parts being thus distributed to the leaders, they com- 
menced the first assault, of which the reader has already heard 
the issue. 

When the barbican was carried, the Sable Knight sent 
notice of the happy event to Locksley, requesting him at the 
same time to keep such a strict observation on the castle as 
might prevent the defenders from combining their force for a 
sudden sally, and recovering the outwork which they had lost. 
This the knight was chiefiy desirous of avoiding, conscious 
that the men whom he led, being hasty and untrained volun- 
teers, imperfectly armed and unaccustomed to discipline, 
must, upon any sudden attack, fight at great disadvantage 
with the veteran soldiers of the Norman knights, who were 
well provided with arms both defensive and offensive; and 
who, to match the zeal and high spirit of the besiegers, had all 
the confidence which arises from perfect discipline and the 
habitual use of weapons. 

The knight employed the interval in causing to be con- 
structed a sort of floating bridge, or long raft, by means of 
which he hoped to cross the moat in despite of the resistance 
of the enemy. This was a work of some time, which the 
leaders the less regretted, as it gave Ulrica leisure to execute 
her plan of diversion in their favour, whatever that might be. 

When the raft was completed, the Black Knight addressed 
the besiegers : ‘ It avails not waiting here longer, my friends ; 


IVANHOE 


309 


the sun is descending to the west, and I have that ujDon my 
hands which will not permit me to tarry with you another 
day. Besides, it will be a marvel if the horsemen come not 
upon us from York, unless we speedily accomplish our pur- 
pose. Wherefore, one of ye go to Locksley, and bid him com- 
mence a discharge of arrows on the opposite side of the castle, 
and move forward as if about to assault it; and you, true 
English hearts, stand by me, and be ready to thrust the raft 
endlong over the moat whenever the postern on our side is 
thrown open. Follow me boldly across, and aid me to burst 
yon sallyport in the main wall of the castle. As many of you 
as like not this service, or are but ill armed to meet it, do you 
man the top of the outwork, draw your bowstrings to your 
ears, and mind you quell with your shot whatever shall appear 
to man the rampart. Noble Cedric, wilt thou take the direc- 
tion of those which remain ? ’ 

^ Not so, by the soul of Hereward ! ’ said the Saxon ; ^ lead I 
cannot; but may posterity curse me in my grave, if I follow 
not with the foremost wherever thou shalt point the way. The 
quarrel is mine, and well it becomes me to be in the van of 
the battle.’ 

^ Yet, bethink thee, noble Saxon,’ said the knight, " thou hast 
neither hauberk, nor corslet, nor aught but that light helmet, 
target, and sword.’ 

^ The better ! ’ answered Cedric ; ^ I shall be the lighter to 
climb these walls. And — forgive the boast. Sir Knight — thou 
shalt this day see the naked breast of a Saxon as b^oldly pre- 
sented to the battle as ever ye beheld the steel corslet of a 
Norman.’ 

^ In the name of God, then,’ said the knight, ^ fling open the 
door, and launch the floating bridge.’ 

The portal, which led from the inner wall of the barbican to 
the moat, and which corresponded with a sallyport ip the 
main wall of the castle, was now suddenly opened ; the tempo- 
rary bridge was then thrust forward, and soon flashed in the 
waters, extending its length between the castle and outwork, 
and forming a slippery and precarious passage for two men 
abreast to cross the moat. Well aware of the importance of 
taking the foe by surprise, the Black Knight, closely followed 
by Cedric, threw himself upon the bridge, and reached the 
opposite side. Here he began to thunder with his axe upon 
the gate of the castle, protected in part from the shot and 


310 


IVANHOE 


stones cast by the defenders by the ruins of the former draw- 
bridge, which the Templar had demolished in his retreat from 
the barbican, leaving the counterpoise still attached to the 
upper part of the portal. The followers of the knight had 
no such shelter; two were instantly shot with cross-bow bolts, 
and two more fell into the moat ; the others retreated back 
into the barbican. 

^ The situation of Cedric and of the Black Knight was now 
truly dangerous, and would have been still more so but for 
the constancy of the archers in the barbican, who ceased not to 
shower their arrows upon the battlements, distracting the at- 
tention of those by whom they were manned, and thus afford- 
ing a respite to their two chiefs from the storm of missiles 
which must otherwise have overwhelmed them. But their 
situation was eminently perilous, and was becoming more so 
with every moment. 

^ Shame on ye all ! ’ cried De Bracy to the soldiers around 
him ; ‘ do ye call yourselves cross-bowmen, and let these two 
dogs keep their station under the walls of the castle ? Heave 
over the coping stones from the battlement, an better may not 
be. Get pickaxe and levers, and down with that huge pin- 
nacle ! ^ pointing to a heavy piece of stone carved-work that 
projected from the parapet. 

At this moment the besiegers caught sight of the red flag 
upon the angle of the tower which Ulrica had described to 
Cedric. The stout yeoman Locksley was the first who was 
aware of it, as he was hasting to the outwork, impatient to see 
the progress of the assault. 

^ St. George ! ^ he cried — ^ Merry St. George for England ! 
To the charge, bold yeomen! why leave ye the good knight 
and noble Cedric to storm the pass alone? Make in, mad 
priest, show thou canst fight for thy rosary — make in, brave 
yeoman! — the castle is ours, we have friends within. See 
yonder flag, it is the appointed signal — Torquilstone is ours ! 
Think of honour — think of spoil ! One effort, and the place is 
ours ! ^ 

With that he bent his good bow, and sent a shaft right 
through the breast of one of the men-at-arms, who, under De 
Bracy's direction, was loosening a fragment from one of the 
battlements to precipitate on the heads of Cedric and the 
Black Knight. A second soldier caught from the hands of 
the dying man the iron crow with which he heaved at and had 


IVANHOE 


311 


loosened the stone pinnacle, when, receiving an arrow through 
his headpiece, he dropped from the battlements into the moat 
a dead man. The men-at-arms were daunted, for no armour 
seemed proof against the shot of this tremendous archer. 

‘ Do you give ground, base knaves ! ^ said De Bracy ; ^ Mount 
joye Saint Denis! Give me the lever ! ^ 

And, snatching it up, he again assailed the loosened pinna- 
cle, which was of weight enough, if thrown down, not only to 
have destroyed the remnant of the drawbridge which sheltered 
the two foremost assailants, but also to have sunk the rude 
float of planks over which they had crossed. All saw the 
danger, and the boldest, even the stout Friar himself, avoided 
setting foot on the raft. Thrice did Locksley bend his shaft 
against De Bracy, and thrice did his arrow bound back from 
the knight’s armour of proof. 

‘ Curse on thy Spanish steel-coat ! ’ said Locksley, ^ had 
English smith forged it, these arrows had gone through, an 
as if it had been silk or sendaL’ He then began to call out, 
' Comrades ! friends ! noble Cedric ! bear back and let the ruin 
fall.’ 

His warning voice was unheard, for the din which the 
knight himself occasioned by his strokes upon the postern 
would have drowned twenty war-trumpets. The faithful 
Gurth indeed sprung forward on the planked bridge, to warn 
Cedric of his impending fate, or to share it with him. But 
his warning would have come too late; the massive pinnacle 
already tottered, and De Bracy, who still heaved at his task, 
would have accomplished it, had not the voice of the Templar 
sounded close in his ear: 

^ All is lost, De Bracy ; the castle burns.’ 

^ Thou art mad to say so ! ’ replied the knight. 

^ It is all in a light flame on the western side. I have 
striven in vain to extinguish it.’ 

With the stern coolness which formed the basis of his char- 
acter, Brian de Bois-Guilbert communicated this hideous in- 
telligence, which was not so calmly received by his astonished 
comrade. 

‘ Saints of Paradise ! ’ said De Bracy ; ^ what is to be 
done ? I vow to St. Nicholas of Limoges a candlestick of pure 
gold 

^ Spare thy vow,’ said the Templar, ^ and mark me. Lead 
thy men down, as if to a sally ; throw the postern gate open. 


312 


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There are but two men who occupy the float, fling them into 
the moat, and push across for the barbican. I will charge 
from the main gate, and attack the barbican on the outside ; 
and if we can regain that post, be assured we shall defend 
ourselves until we are relieved, or at least till they grant us 
fair quarter.^ 

^ It is well thought upon,’ said De Bracy ; ^ I will play my 
part. Templar, thou wilt not fail me ? ’ 

^ Hand and glove, I will not ! ’ said Bois-Guilbert. ^ But 
haste thee, in the name of God ! ’ 

De Bracy hastily drew his men together, and rushed down 
to the postern gate, which he caused instantly to be thrown 
open. But scarce was this done ere the portentous strength 
of the Black Knight forced his way inward in despite of De 
Bracy and his followers. Two of the foremost instantly fell, 
and the rest gave way notwithstanding all their leader’s efforts 
to stop them. 

^ Dogs ! ’ said De Bracy, ^ will ye let two men win our only 
pass for safety ? ’ 

^ He is the devil ! ’ said a veteran man-at-arms, bearing back 
from the blows of their sable antagonist. 

‘ And if he be the devil,’ replied De Bracy, ^ would you fly 
from him into the mouth of hell? The castle burns behind 
us, villains ! — let despair give you courage, or let me forward ! 
I will cope with this champion myself.’ 

And well and chivalrous did De Bracy that day maintain 
the fame he had acquired in the civil wars of that dreadful 
period. The vaulted passage to which the postern gave en- 
trance, and in which these two redoubted champions were now 
fighting hand to hand, rung with the furious blows which they 
dealt each other, De Bracy with his sword, the Black Knight 
Avith his ponderous axe. At length the Korman received a 
blow which, though its force was partly parried by his shield, 
for otherwise never more would De Bracy have again moved 
limb, descended yet with such violence on his crest that he 
measured his len^h on the paved floor. 

^ Yield thee, De Bracy,’ said the Black Champion, stooping 
over him, and holding against the bars of his helmet the fatal 
poniard with which the knights despatched their enemies, and 
which was called the dagger of mercy — ^ yield thee, Maurice 
de Bracy, rescue or no rescue, or thou art but a dead man.’ 

‘I will not yield,’ replied De Bracy, faintly, ‘to an un- 


IVANHOE 


313 


known conqueror. Tell me thy name, or work thy pleasure on 
me ; it shall never be said that Maurice de Bracy was prisoner 
to a nameless churl.’ 

The Black Knight whispered something into the ear of the 
vanquished. 

yield me to be true prisoner, rescue or no rescue,’ an- 
swered the Norman, exchanging his tone of stern and deter- 
mined obstinacy for one of deep though sullen submission. 

‘ Go to the barbican,’ said the victor, in a tone of authority, 
^ and there wait my further orders.’ 

^ Yet first let me say,’ said De Bracy, ‘ what it imports thee 
to know. Wilfred of Ivanhoe is wounded and a prisoner, and 
will perish in the burning castle without present help.’ 

^ Wilfred of Ivanhoe ! ’ exclaimed the Black Knight — 
^ prisoner, and perish ! The life of every man in the castle 
shall answer it if a hair of his head be singed. Show me his 
chamber ! ’ 

^ Ascend yonder winding stair,’ said De Bracy ; ^ it leads to 
his apartment. Wilt thou not accept my guidance ? ’ he added, 
in a submissive voice. 

' No. To the barbican, and there wait my orders. I trust 
thee not, De Bracy.’ 

During this combat and the brief conversation which en- 
sued, Cedric, at the head of a body of men, among whom the 
Friar w^as conspicuous, had pushed across the bridge as soon as 
they saw the postern open, and drove back the dispirited and 
despairing followers of De Bracy, of whom some asked quar- 
ter, some offered vain resistance, and the greater part fled 
towards the courtyard. De Bracy himself arose from the 
ground, and cast a sorrowful glance after his conqueror. ‘ He 
trusts me not ! ’ he repeated ; ‘ but have I deserved his trust ? ’ 
He then lifted his sword from the floor, took off his helmet in 
token of submission, and, going to the barbican, gave up his 
sword to Locksley, whom he met by the way. 

As the fire augmented, symptoms of it became soon ap- 
parent in the chamber where Ivanhoe was watched and tended 
by the Jewess Eebecca. He had been awakened from his 
brief slumber by the noise of the battle; and his attendant, 
who had, at his anxious desire, again placed herself at the 
window to watch and report to him the fate of the attack, 
was for some time prevented from observing either by the 


314 


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increase of the smouldering and stifling vapour. At length 
the volumes of smoke which rolled into the apartment, the 
cries for water, which were heard even above the din of the 
battle, made them sensible of the progress of this new danger. 

‘ The castle burns,’ said Eebecca — ^ it burns ! What can 
we do to save ourselves ? ’ 

^ Fly, Eebecca, and save thine own life,’ said Ivanhoe, ^ for 
no human aid can avail me.’ 

^ I will not fly,’ answered Eebecca ; ^ we will be saved or 
perish together. And yet, great God ! my father — my father, 
what will be his fate ? ’ 

At this moment the door of the apartment flew open, and 
the Templar presented himself — a ghastly flgure, for his 
gilded armour was broken and bloody, and the plume was 
partly shorn away, partly burnt from his casque. ‘ I have 
found thee,’ said he to Eebecca ; ^ thou shalt prove I will keep 
my word to share weal and woe with thee. There is but one 
path to safety: I have cut my way through fifty dangers to 
point it to thee ; up, and instantly follow me ! ’ * 

‘Alone,’ answered Eebecca, ‘I will not follow thee. If 
thou wert born of woman — if thou hast but a touch of human 
charity in thee — if thy heart be not hard as thy breastplate — 
save my aged father — save this wounded knight ! ’ 

‘A knight,’ answered the Templar, with his characteristic 
calmness — ‘ a knight, Eebecca, must encounter his fate, 
whether it meet him in the shape of sword or flame ; and who 
recks how or where a Jew meets with his ? ’ 

‘ Savage warrior,’ said Eebecca, ‘ rather will I perish in the 
flames than accept safety from thee ! ’ 

‘ Thou shalt not choose, Eebecca ; once didst thou foil me, 
but never mortal did so twice.’ 

So saying, he seized on the terrified maiden, who filled the 
air with her shrieks, and bore her out of the room in his arms, 
in spite of her cries, and without regarding the menaces and 
defiance which Ivanhoe thundered against him. ‘ Hound of 
the Temple — stain to thine order — set free the damsel! 
Traitor of Bois-Guilbert, it is Ivanhoe commands thee ! 
Villain, I will have thy heart’s blood ! ’ 

‘I had not found thee, Wilfred,’ said the Black Knight, 
who at that instant entered the apartment, ‘ but for thy 
shouts.’ 

» See Incident from Grand Cyrus. Note 18. 


IVANHOE 


315 


' If thou be’st true knight/ said Wilfred, ' think not of me 
—pursue yon ravisher— save the Lady Rowena— look to the 
noble Cedric ! ^ 

" In their turn/ answered he of the Fetterlock, ‘ but thine is 
first/ 

And seizing upon Ivanhoe, he bore him off with as much 
ease as the Templar had carried off Rebecca, rushed with him 
to the postern, and having there delivered his burden to the 
care of the two yeomen, he again entered the castle to assist 
in the rescue of the other prisoners. 

One turret was now in bright flames, which flashed out 
furiously from window and shot-hole. But in other parts the 
great thickness of the walls and the vaulted roofs of the apart- 
ments resisted the progress of the flames, and there the rage 
of man still triumphed, as the scarce more dreadful element 
held mastery elsewhere; for the besiegers pursued the de- 
fenders of the castle from chamber to chamber, and satisfied 
in their blood the vengeance which had long animated them 
against the soldiers of the tyrant Front-de-Boeuf. Most of 
the garrison resisted to the uttermost; few of them asked 
quarter ; none received it. The air was filled with groans and 
clashing of arms; the floors were slippery with the blood of 
despairing and e^cpiring wretches. 

Through this scene of confusion, Cedric rushed in quest of 
Rowena, while the faithful Gurth, following him closely 
through the mUee, neglected his own safety while he strove 
to avert the blows that were aimed at his master. The noble 
Saxon was so fortunate as to reach his ward’s apartment just 
as she had abandoned all hope of safety, and, with a crucifix 
clasped in agony to her bosom, sat in expectation of instant 
death. He committed her to the charge of Gurth, to be con- 
ducted in safety to the barbican, the road to which was now 
cleared of the enemy, and not yet interrupted by the flames. 
This accomplished, the loyal Cedric hastened in quest of his 
friend Athelstane, determined, at every risk to himself, to 
save that last scion of Saxon royalty. But ere Cedric pene- 
trated as far as the old hall in which he had himself been 
a prisoner, the inventive genius of Wamba had procured lib- 
eration for himself and his companion in adversity. 

When the noise of the conflict announced that it was at the 
hottest, the Jester began to shout, with the utmost power 
of his lungs, ' St. George and the dragon ! Bonny St. George 


316 


IVANHOE 


for merry England ! The castle is won ! ^ And these sounds 
he rendered yet more fearful by banging against each other 
two or three pieces of rusty armour which lay scattered around 
the hall. 

A guard, which had been stationed in the outer or ante- 
room, and whose spirits were already in a state of alarm, took 
fright at Wamba’s clamour, and, leaving the door open be- 
hind them, ran to tell the Templar that foemen had entered 
the old hall. Meantime the prisoners found no difficulty in 
making their escape into the ante-room, and from thence into 
the court of the castle, which was now the last scene of con- 
test. Here sat the fierce Templar, mounted on horseback, sur- 
rounded by several of the garrison both on horse and foot, who 
had united their strength to that of this renowned leader, in 
order to secure the last chance of safety and retreat which 
remained to them. The drawbridge had been lowered by his 
orders, but the passage was beset; for the archers, who had 
hitherto only annoyed the castle on that side by their missiles, 
no sooner saw the flames breaking out, and the bridge lowered, 
than they thronged to the entrance, as well to prevent the 
escape of the garrison as to secure their own share of booty 
ere the castle should be burnt down. On the other hand, a 
party of the besiegers, who had entered by the postern, were 
now issuing out into the courtyard, and attacking with fury 
the remnant of the defenders, who were thus assaulted on both 
sides at once. 

Animated, however, by despair, and supported by the exam- 
ple of their indomitable leader, the remaining soldiers of the 
castle fought with the utmost valour ; and, being well armed, 
succeeded more than once in driving back the assailants, 
though much inferior in numbers. Eebecca, placed on horse- 
back before one of the Templar’s Saracen slaves, was in the 
midst of the little party; and Bois-Guilbert, notwithstanding 
the confusion of the bloody fray, showed every attention to her 
safety. Repeatedly he was by her side, and, neglecting his 
own defence, held before her the fence of his triangular steel- 
plated shield; and anon starting from his position by her, he 
cried his war-cry, dashed forward, struck to earth the most 
forward of the assailants, and was on the same instant once 
more at her bridle rein. 

Athelstane, who, as the reader knows, was slothful, but not 
cowardly, beheld the female form whom the Templar protected 


IVANHOE 


3ir 

thus sedulously, and doubted not that it was Eowena whom 
the knight was carrying off, in despite of all resistance which 
could be offered. 

^ By the soul of St. Edward,’ he said, ^ I will rescue her from 
yonder over-proud knight, and he shall die by my hand ! ’ 

^ Think what you do ! ’ cried Wamba ; ^ hasty hand catches 
frog for fish ; by my bauble, yonder is none of my Lady 
Eowena, see but her long dark locks! Nay, an ye will not • 
know black from white, ye may be leader, but I will be no ‘ 
follower; no bones of mine shall be broken unless I know for 
whom. And you without armour too ! Bethink you, silk 
bonnet never kept out steel blade. Nay, then, if wilful will 
to water, wilful must drench. Bern vohiscum, most doughty 
Athelstane I ’ he concluded, loosening the hold which he had 
hitherto kept upon the Saxon’s tunic. 

To snatch a mace from the pavement, on which it lay beside 
one whose dying grasp had just relinquished it, to rush on the 
Templar’s band, and to strike in quick succession to the right 
and left, levelling a warrior at each blow, was, for Athelstane’s 
great strength, now animated with unusual fury, but the work 
of a single moment; he was soon within two yards of Bois- 
Guilbert, whom he defied in his loudest tone. 

^ Turn, false-hearted Templar ! let go her whom thou art 
unworthy to touch; turn, limb of a band of murdering and 
hypocritical robbers ! ’ 

^ Dog ! ’ said the Templar, grinding his teeth, ^ I will teach 
thee to blaspheme the holy order of the Temple of Zion ’ ; and 
with these words, half-wheeling his steed, he made a demi- 
courbette towards the Saxon, and rising in the stirrups, so as 
to take full advantage of the descent of the horse, he dis- 
charged a fearful blow upon the head of Athelstane. 

Well said Wamba, that silken bonnet keeps out no steel 
blade ! So trenchant was the Templar’s weapon, that it shore 
asunder, as it had been a willow twig, the tough and plaited 
handle of the mace, which the ill-fated Saxon reared to parry 
the blow, and, descending on his head, levelled him with the 
earth. 

'Ha! Beau-seantl* exclaimed Bois-Guilbert, ^thus be it to 
the maligners of the Temple knights ! ’ Taking advantage of 
the dismay which was spread by the fall of Athelstane, and 
calling aloud, ^ Those who would save themselves, follow me ! ’ 
he pushed across the drawbridge, dispersing the archers who 


318 


IVANHOE 


would have intercepted them. He was followed by his Sara- 
cens, and some five or six men-at-arms, who had mounted 
their horses. The Templar’s retreat was rendered perilous by 
the numbers of arrows shot off at him and his party ; but this 
did not prevent him from galloping round to the barbican, of 
which, according to his previous plan, he supposed it possible 
De Bracy might have been in possession. 

^ De Bracy ! De Bracy ! ’ he shouted, ^ art thou there ? ’ 

^ I am here,’ replied De Bracy, ^ but I am a prisoner.’ 

^ Can I rescue thee ? ’ cried Bois-Guilbert. 

^ Ho,’ replied De Bracy ; ^ I have rendered me, rescue or no 
rescue. I will be true prisoner. Save thyself ; there are hawks 
abroad. Put the seas betwixt you and England; I dare not 
say more.’ 

^Well,’ answered the Templar, ^an thou wilt tarry there, 
remember I have redeemed word and glove. Be the hawks 
where they will, methinks the walls of the preceptory of 
Templestowe will be cover sufficient, and thither will I, like 
heron to her haunt.’ 

Having thus spoken, he galloped off with his followers. 

Those of the castle who had not gotten to horse, still con- 
tinued to fight desperately with the besiegers, after the de- 
parture of the Templar, but rather in despair of quarter than 
that they entertained any hope of escape. The fire was spread- 
ing rapidly through all parts of the castle, when Ulrica, who 
had first kindled it, appeared on a turret, in the guise of one 
of the ancient furies, yelling forth a war-song, such as was of 
yore raised on the field of battle by the scalds of the yet 
heathen Saxons. Her long dishevelled grey hair flew back 
from her uncovered head ; the inebriating delight of gratified 
vengeance contended in her eyes with the fire of insanity; 
and she brandished the distaff which she held in her hand, as 
if she had been one of the Fatal Sisters who spin and abridge 
the thread of human life. Tradition has preserved some wild 
strophes of the barbarous hymn which she chanted wildly 
amid that scene of fire and of slaughter : — 

Whet the bright steel, 

Sons of the White Dragon 1 
Kindle the torch, 

Daughter of Hengist ! 

The steel glimmers not for the carving of the banquet, 

It is hard, broad, and sharply pointed ; 

The torch goeth not to the bridal chamber, 

It steams and glitters blue with sulphur. 


IVANHOE 


319 


Whet the steel, the raven croaks ! 

Light the torch, Zernebock is yelling ! 
Whet the steel, sons of the Dragon ! 
Kindle the torch, daughter of Hengist ! 


The black cloud is low over the thane’s castle ; 

The eagle screams— he rides on its bosom. 

Scream not, grey rider of the sable cloud. 

Thy banquet is prepared ! 

The maidens of Valhalla look forth. 

The race of Hengist will send them guests. 

Shake your black tresses, maidens of Valhalla ! 

And strike your loud timbrels for joy ! 

Many a haughty step bends to your halls, 

Many a helmed head. 

Dark sits the evening upon the thane’s castle, 

The black clouds gather round ; 

Soon shall they be red as the blood of the valiant ! 

The destroyer of forests shall shake his red crest against them. 

He, the bright consumer of palaces. 

Broad waves he his blazing banner ; 

Red, wide, and dusky. 

Over the strife of the valiant : 

His joy is in the clashing swords and broken bucklers ; 

He loves to lick the hissing blood as it bursts warm from the wound ! 

All must perish ! 

The sword cleaveth the helmet ; 

The strong armour is pierced by the lance ; 

Fire devoureth the dwelling of princes ; 

Engines break down the fences of the battle. 

All must perish ! 

The race of Hengist is gone— 

The name of Horsa is no more ! 

Shrink not then from your doom, sons of the sword 1 
Let your blades drink blood like wine ; 

Feast ye in the banquet of slaughter. 

By the light of the blazing halls ! 

Strong be your swords while your blood is warm, 

And spare neither for pity nor fear. 

For vengeance hath but an hour ; 

Strong hate itself shall expire ! 

I also must perish ! * 


The towering flames had now surmounted every obstruction, 
and rose to the evening skies one huge and burning beacon, 
seen far and wide through the adjacent country. Tower after 
tower crashed down, with blazing roof and rafter; and the 
combatants were driven from the courtyard. The vanquished, 
of whom very few remained, scattered and escaped into the 
neighbouring wood. The victors, assembling in large bands, 
gazed with wonder, not unmixed with fear, upon the flames, 
in which their own ranks and arms glanced dusky red. The 
* See Ulrica’s Death-Song. Note 19. 


320 


IVANHOE 


maniac figure of the Saxon Ulrica was for a long time visible 
on the lofty stand she had chosen, tossing her arms abroad 
with wild exultation, as if she reigned empress of the confia- 
gration which she had raised. At length, with a terrific crash, 
the whole turret gave way, and she perished in the flames 
which had consumed her tyrant. An awful pause of horror 
silenced each murmur of the armed spectators, who, for the 
space of several minutes, stirred not a finger, save to sign the 
cross. The voice of Locksley was then heard — ^ Shout, yeo- 
men ! the den of tyrants is no more ! Let each bring his spoil 
to our chosen place of rendezvous at the trysting-tree in the 
Harthill Walk; for there at break of day will we make just 
partition among our own bands, together with our worthy 
allies in this great deed of vengeance.’ 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

The fall of Torquilstone is the grand climax, or turning point, of the 
plot. Hitherto the fortunes of Norman and Saxon have wavered, first 
to one side, and then to the other. Here begins disaster for the Nor- 
mans. 

Observe that the characters are depicted in this chapter not by what 
they say or by what is said of them, but by what they do. This is the 
dramatic method. 

^numerate the deeds of each character. 

Account for the quick submission of De Bracy. 

What does he mean when he says to Bois-Guilbert * there are hawks 
abroad ’ ? 

Is Athelstane slain by Bois-Guilbert ? 

Are you satisfied with the end of Ulrica ? 

Observe that the escape of the Templar with Rebecca prepares the 
way for new scenes. 

What must Scott yet accomplish before the romance ends ? 


CHAPTEE XXXII 


Trust me, each state must have its policies ; 

Kingdoms have edicts, cities have their charters ; 

Even the wild outlaw, in his forest-walk. 

Keeps yet some touch of civil discipline ; 

For not since Adam wore his verdant apron. 

Hath man with man in social union dwelt. 

But laws were made to draw that union closer. 

Old Play. 

The daylight had dawned upon the glades of the oak forest. 
The green boughs glittered with all their pearls of dew. The 
hind led her fawn from the covert of high fern to the more 
open walks of the greenwood, and no huntsman was there to 
watch or intercept the stately hart, as he paced at the head of 
the antlered herd. 

The outlaws were all assembled around the trysting-tree in 
the Harthill Walk, where they had spent the night in refresh- 
ing themselves after the fatigues of the siege — some with 
wine, some with slumber, many with hearing and recounting 
the events of the day, and computing the heaps of plunder 
which their success had placed at the disposal of their chief. 

The spoils were indeed very large; for, notwithstanding 
that much was consumed, a great deal of plate, rich armour, 
and splendid clothing had been secured by the exertions of 
the dauntless outlaws, who could be appalled by no danger 
when such rewards were in view. Yet so strict were the laws 
of their society, that no one ventured to appropriate any part 
of the booty, which was brought into one common mass, to be 
at the disposal of their leader. 

The place of rendezvous was an aged oak ; not, however, the 
same to which Locksley had conducted Gurth and Wamba in 
the earlier part of the story, but one which was the centre of a 
silvan amphitheatre, within half a mile of the demolished 
castle of Torquilstone. Here Locksley assumed his seat — a 
throne of turf erected -under the twisted branches of the huge 
oak, and the silvan followers were gathered around him. He 

321 


322 


IVANHOE 


assigned to the Black Knight a seat at his right hand, and to 
Cedric a place upon his left. 

‘ Pardon my freedom, noble sirs,’ he said, ^ but in these 
glades I am monarch: they are my kingdom; and these my 
wild subjects would reck but little of my power, were I, within 
my own dominions, to yield place to mortal man. Now, sirs, 
who hath seen our chaplain? where is our curtal friar? A 
mass amongst Christian men best begins a busy morning.’ No 
one had seen the clerk of Copmanhurst. ' Over God’s for- 
bode ! ’ said the outlaw chief, ^ I trust the jolly priest hath 
but abidden by the wine-pot a thought too late. Who saw 
him since the castle was ta’en ? ’ 

^ I,’ quoth the Miller, ^ marked him busy about the door of a 
cellar, swearing by each saint in the calendar he would taste 
the smack of Front-de-BoGuf’s Gascoigne wine.’ 

^ Now, the saints, as many as there be of them,’ said the 
captain, ^ forefend, lest he has drunk too deep of the wine- 
butts, and perished by the fall of the castle ! Away, Miller ! 
take with you enow of men, seek the place where you last 
saw him, throw water from the moat on the scorching ruins ; I 
will have them removed stone by stone ere I lose my curtal 
friar.’ 

The numbers who hastened to execute this duty, consider- 
ing that an interesting division of spoil was about to take 
place, showed how much the troop had at heart the safety of 
their spiritual father. 

^ Meanwhile, let us proceed,’ said Locksley ; for when this 
bold deed shall be sounded abroad, the bands of De Bracy, of 
Malvoisin, and other allies of Front-de-Boeuf, will be in 
motion against us, and it were well for our safety that we 
retreat from the vicinity. Noble Cedric,’ he said, turning to 
the Saxon, Hhat spoil is divided into two portions; do thou 
make choice of that which best suits thee, to recompense thy 
people who were partakers with us in this adventure.’ 

^ Good yeoman,’ said Cedric, ^ my heart is oppressed with 
sadness. The nohle Athelstane of Coningsburgh is no more — 
the last sprout of the sainted Confessor ! Ifbpes have perished 
with him which can never return! A sparkle hath been 
quenched by his blood which no human breath can again re- 
kindle! My people, save the few who are now with me, do 
but tarry my presence to transport his honoured remains to 
their last mansion. The Lady Bowena is desirous to return to 


IVANHOE 


323 


Eotherwood, and must be escorted by a sufficient force. I 
should, therefore, ere now have left this place ; and I waited, 
not to share the booty, for, so help me God and St. Withold ! 
as neither I nor any of mine will touch the value of a Hard — I 
waited but to render my thanks to thee and to thy bold yeo- 
men, for the life and honour ye have saved.^ 

^Nay, but,’ said the chief outlaw, ‘we did but half the 
work at most; take of the spoil what may reward your own 
neighbours and followers.’ 

‘ I am rich enough to reward them from mine own wealth,’ 
answered Cedric. 

‘And some,’ said Wamba, ‘have been wise enough to re- 
ward themselves; they do not march off empty-handed alto- 
gether. We do not all wear motley.’ 

‘ They are welcome,’ said Locksley ; ‘ our laws bind none but 
ourselves.’ 

‘ But thou, my poor knave,’ said Cedric, turning about and 
embracing his Jester, ‘how shall I reward thee, who feared 
not to give thy body to chains and death instead of mine? 
All forsook me, when the poor fool was faithful ! ’ 

A tear stood in the eye of the rough thane as he spoke — a 
mark of feeling which even the death of Athelstane had not 
extracted; but there was something in the half-instinctive 
attachment of his clown that waked his nature more keenly 
than even grief itself. 

‘ Nay,’ said the Jester, extricating himself from his master’s 
caress, ‘ if you pay my service with the water of your eye, the 
Jester must weep for company, and then what becomes of his 
vocation? But, uncle, if you would indeed pleasure me, I 
pray you to pardon my playfellow Gurth, who stole a week 
from your service to bestow it on your son.’ 

‘ Pardon him ! ’ exclaimed Cedric ; ‘ I will both pardon and 
reward him. Kneel down, Gurth.’ The swineherd was in an 
instant at his master’s feet. ‘ Theow and Esne art thou no 
longer,’ said Cedric, touching him with a wand ; ‘ Folkfree 
and Sacless art thou in town and from town, in the forest as 
in the field. A hide of land I give to thee in my steads of 
Walbrugham, from me and mine to thee and thine aye and for 
ever ; and God’s malison on his head who this gainsays ! ’ 

No longer a serf but a freeman and a landholder, Gurth 
sprung upon his feet, and twice bounded aloft to almost his 
own height from the ground. 


324 


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^ A smith and a file/ he cried, ‘ to do away the collar from 
the neck of a freeman ! Noble master ! doubled is my strength 
by your gift, and doubly will I fight for you! There is a 
free spirit in my breast. I am a man changed to myself and 
all around. Ha, Fangs ! ^ he continued, for that faithful cur, 
seeing his master thus transported, began to jump upon him 
to express his sympathy, ^ knowest thou thy master still ? ’ 

^ Ay,’ said Wamba, ^ Fangs and I still know thee, Gurth, 
though we must needs abide by the collar; it is only thou art 
likely to forget both us and thyself.’ 

shall forget myself indeed ere I forget thee, true com- 
rade,’ said Gurth ; ^ and were freedom fit for thee, Wamba, 
the master would not let thee want it.’ 

^Nay,’ said Wamba, ^ never think I envy thee, brother 
Gurth; the serf sits by the hall fire when the freeman must 
forth to the field of battle. And w^hat saith Aldhelm of 
Malmsbury — Better a fool at a feast than a wise man at a 
fray.” ’ 

The tramp of horses was now heard, and the Lady Kowena 
appeared, surrounded by several riders, and a much stronger 
party of footmen, who joyfully shook their pikes and clashed 
their brown-bills for joy of her freedom. She herself, richly 
attired, and mounted on a dark chestnut palfrey, had recov- 
ered all the dignity of her manner, and only an unwonted 
degree of paleness showed the sufferings she had undergone. 
Her lovely brow, though sorrowful, bore on it a cast of re- 
viving hope for the future, as well as of grateful thankfulness 
for the past deliverance. She knew that Ivanhoe was safe, 
and she knew that Athelstane was dead. The former assur- 
ance filled her with the most sincere delight; and if she did 
not absolutely rejoice at the latter, she might be pardoned 
for feeling the full advantage of being freed from further 
persecution on the only subject in which she had ever been 
contradicted by her guardian Cedric. 

As Eowena bent her steed towards Locksley’s seat, that 
bold yeoman, with all his followers, rose to receive her, as if 
by a general instinct of courtesy. The blood rose to her cheeks 
as, courteously waving her hand, and bending so low that her 
beautiful and loose tresses were for an instant mixed with the 
flowing mane of her palfrey, she expressed in few but apt 
words her obligations and her gratitude to Locksley and her 
other deliverers. " God bless you, brave men,’ she concluded 


IVANHOE 


335 


— ^ God and Our Lady bless you and requite you for gallantly 
perilling yourselves in the cause of the oppressed ! If any of 
you should hunger, remember Eowena has food ; if you should 
thirst, she has many a butt of vrine and brown ale ; and if the 
Normans drive ye from these walks, Eowena has forests of her 
own, where her gallant deliverers may range at full freedom, 
and never ranger ask whose arrow hath struck down the deer/ 

^ Thanks, gentle lady,^ said Locksley — ‘ thanks from my 
company and myself. But to have saved you requites itself. 
We who walk the greenwood do many a wild deed, and the 
Lady Eowena’s deliverance may be received as an atone- 
ment.^ 

Again bowing from her palfrey, Eowena turned to depart ; 
but pausing a moment, while Cedric, who was to attend her, 
was also taking his leave, she found herself unexpectedly 
close by the prisoner De Bracy. He stood under a tree in 
deep meditation, his arms crossed upon his breast, and Eowena 
was in hopes she might pass him unobserved. He looked up, 
however, and, when aware of her presence, a deep flush of 
shame suffused his handsome countenance. He stood a mo- 
ment most irresolute ; then, stepping forward, took her palfrey 
by the rein and bent his knee before her. 

^ Will the Lady Eowena deign to cast an eye on a captive 
knight — on a dishonoured soldier ? ^ 

iSif Knight,’ answered Eowena, ^in enterprises such as 
yours, the real dishonour lies not in failure, but in success.’ 

^ Conquest, lady, should soften the heart,’ answered De 
Bracy ; ^ let me but know that the Lady Eowena forgives the 
’ violence occasioned by an ill-fated passion, and she shall soon 
learn that De Bracy knows how to serve her in nobler ways.’ 

^ I forgive you. Sir Knight,’ said Eowena, ^ as a Christian.’ 

^That means,’ said Wamba, ^that she does not forgive 
him at all.’ 

^But I can never forgive the misery and desolation your 
madness has occasioned,’ continued Eowena. 

^ Unloose your hold on the lady’s rein,’ said Cedric, coming 
up. ^ By the bright sun above us, but it were shame, I would 
pin thee to the earth with my javelin; but be well assured, 
thou shalt smart, Maurice de Bracy, for thy share in this 
foul deed.’ 

‘He threatens safely who threatens a prisoner,’ said De 
Bracy ; ‘ but when had a Saxon any touch of courtesy ? ’ 


326 IVANHOE 

Then retiring two steps backward, he permitted the lady to 
move on. 

Cedric, ere they departed, expressed his peculiar gratitude 
to the Black Champion, and earnestly entreated him to accom- 
pany him to Eotherwood. 

^ I know,’ he said, ^ that ye errant knights desire to carry 
your fortunes on the point of your lance, and reck not of land 
or goods ; but war is a changeful mistress, and a home is some- 
times desirable even to the champion whose trade is wander- 
ing. Thou hast earned one in the halls of Eotherwood, noble 
knight. Cedric has wealth enough to repair the injuries of 
fortune, and all he has is his deliverer’s. Come, therefore, to 
Eotherwood, not as a guest, but as a son or brother.’ 

‘ Cedric has already made me rich,’ said the Knight ; ^ he 
has taught me the value of Saxon virtue. To Eotherwood will 
I come, brave Saxon, and that speedily; but, as now, pressing 
matters of moment detain me from your halls. Peradventure, 
when I come hither, I will ask such a boon as will put even 
thy generosity to the test.’ 

^ It is granted ere spoken out,’ said Cedric, striking 
his ready hand into the gauntleted palm of the Black 
Knight — ^it is granted already, were it to affect half my 
fortune.’ 

^ Gage not thy promise so lightly,’ said the Knight of the 
Fetterlock; ^yet well I hope to gain the boon I shall ask. 
Meanwhile, adieu.’ 

^ I have but to say,’ added the Saxon, ^ that, during the 
funeral rites of the noble Athelstane, I shall be an in- 
habitant of the halls of his castle of Coningsburgh. They will 
be open to all who choose to partake of the funeral banquet- 
ing ; and — I speak in name of the noble Edith, mother of the 
fallen prince — they will never be shut against him who 
laboured so bravely, though unsuccessfully, to save Athelstane 
from Korman chains and Korman steel.’ 

^ Ay, ay,’ said Wamba, who had resumed his attendance on 
his master, ‘'rare feeding there will be; pity that the noble 
Athelstane cannot banquet at his own funeral. But he,’ con- 
tinued the J ester, lifting up his eyes gravely, ^ is supping in 
Paradise, and doubtless does honour to the cheer.’ 

^ Peace, and move on,’ said Cedric, his anger at this un- 
timely jest being checked by the recollection of Wamba’s 
recent services. Eowena waved a graceful adieu to him of the 


IVANHOE 


327 


Fetterlock, the Saxon bade God speed him, and on they moved 
through a wide glade of the forest. 

They had scarce departed, ere a sudden procession moved 
from under the greenwood branches, swept slowly round the 
silvan amphitheatre, and took the same direction with Rowena 
and her followers. The priests of a neighbouring convent, in 
expectation of the ample donation, or ^ soul-scat,^ which Cedric 
had propined, attended upon the car in which the body of 
Athelstane was laid, and sang hymns as it was sadly and 
slowly borne on the shoulders of his vassals to his castle of 
Coningsburgh, to be there deposited in the grave of Hengist, 
from whom the deceased derived his long descent. Many of 
his vassals had assembled at the news of his death, and fol- 
lowed the bier with all the external marks, at least, of dejec- 
tion and sorrow. Again the outlaws arose, and paid the same 
rude and spontaneous homage to death which they had so 
lately rendered to beauty : the slow chant and mournful step 
of the priests brought back to their remembrance such of their 
comrades as had fallen in the yesterday’s affray. But such 
recollections dwell not long with those who lead a life of 
danger and enterprise, and ere the sound of the death-hymn 
had died on the wind, the outlaws were again busied in the 
distribution of their spoil. 

^Valiant knight,’ said Locksley to the Black Champion, 
' without whose good heart and mighty arm our enterprise 
must altogether have failed, will it please you to take from 
that mass of spoil whatever may best serve to pleasure you, 
and to remind you of this my trysting-tree ? ’ 

accept the offer,’ said the Knight, ^as frankly as it is 
given; and I ask permission to dispose of Sir Maurice de 
Bracy at my own pleasure.’ 

^ He is thine already,’ said Locksley, ^ and well for him ! 
else the tyrant had graced the highest bough of this oak, with 
as many of his Free Companions as we could gather hanging 
thick as acorns around him. But he is thy prisoner, and he is 
safe though he had slain my father.’ 

^ De Bracy,’ said the Knight, ^ thou art free — depart. He 
whose prisoner thou art scorns to take mean revenge for what 
is past. But beware of the future, lest a worse thing befall 
thee. Maurice de Bracy, I say beware ! ’ 

De Bracy bowed low and in silence, and was about to with- 
draw, when the yeomen burst at once into a shout of execration 


328 


IVAKHOE 


and derision. The proud knight instantly stopped, turned 
back, folded his arms, drew up his form to its full height, 
and exclaimed, ^ Peace, ye yelping curs ! who open upon a 
cry which ye followed not when the stag was at bay. De Bracy 
scorns your censure as he would disdain your applause. To 
your brakes and caves, ye outlawed thieves ! and he silent when 
aught knightly or noble is but spoken within a league of your 
fox-earths.^ 

This ill-timed defiance might have procured for De Bracy a 
volley of arrows, but for the hasty and imperative interference 
of the outlaw chief. Meanwhile, the knight caught a horse by 
the rein, for several which had been taken in the stables of 
Front-de-Boeuf stood accoutred around, and were a valuable 
part of the booty. He threw himself upon the saddle, and 
galloped off through the wood. 

When the hustle occasioned by this incident was somewhat 
composed, the chief outlaw took from his neck the rich horn 
and baldric which he had recently gained at the strife of 
archery near Ashby. 

^ Noble knight,^ he said to him of the Fetterlock, ^ if you 
disdain not to grace by your acceptance a bugle which an 
English yeoman has once worn, this I will pray you to keep as 
a memorial of your gallant bearing; and if ye have aught to 
do, and, as happeneth oft to a gallant knight, ye chance to 
be hard bested in any forest between Trent and Tees, wind 
three mots upon the horn thus, Wa-sa-hoa! and it may well 
chance ye shall find helpers and rescue.’ 

He then gave breath to the bugle, and winded once and 
again the call which he described, until the Knight had caught 
the notes. 

^ Gramercy for the gift, bold yeoman,’ said the Knight ; 
^ and better help than thine and thy rangers would I never 
seek, were it at my utmost need.’ And then in his turn he 
winded the call till all the greenwood rang. 

^ Well blown and clearly,’ said the yeoman; ^ beshrew me an 
thou knowest not as much of woodcraft as of war I Thou hast 
been a striker of deer in thy day, I warrant. Comrades, mark 
these three mots, it is the call of the Knight of the Fetterlock ; 
and he who hears it, and hastens not to serve him at his need, 
I will have him scourged out of our band with his own bow- 
string.’ 

^ Long live our leader ! ’ shouted the yeomen, ‘ and long live 


IVANHOE 


329 


the Black Knight of the Fetterlock! May he soon use our 
service to prove how readily it will be paid/ 

Locksley now proceeded to the distribution of the spoil, 
which he performed with the most laudable impartiality. A 
tenth part of the whole was set apart for the church and for 
pious uses; a portion was next allotted to a sort of public 
treasury; a part was assigned to the widows and children of 
those who had fallen, or to be expended in masses for the souls 
of such as had left no surviving family. The rest was divided 
amongst the outlaws, according to their rank and merit ; and 
the judgment of the chief, on all such doubtful questions as 
occurred, was delivered with great shrewdness, and received 
with absolute submission. The Black Knight was not a little 
surprised to find that men in a state so lawless were never- 
theless among themselves so regularly and equitably governed, 
and all that he observed added to his opinion of the justice 
and judgment of their leader. 

When each had taken his own proportion of the booty, and 
while the treasurer, accompanied by four tall yeomen, was 
transporting that belonging to the state to some place of con- 
cealment or of security, the portion devoted to the church still 
remained unappropriated. 

^ I would,^ said the leader, ^ we could hear tidings of our 
joyous chaplain; he was never wont to be absent when meat 
was to be blessed, or spoil to be parted ; and it is his duty to 
take care of these the tithes of our successful enterprise. It 
may be the office has helped to cover some of his canonical 
irregularities. Also, I have a holy brother of his a prisoner 
at no great distance, and I would fain have the Friar to help 
me to deal with him in due sort. I greatly misdoubt the 
safety of the bluff priest.’ 

^ I were right sorry for that,’ said the Knight of the Fetter- 
lock, ^ for I stand indebted to him for the joyous hospitality 
of a merry night in his cell. Let us to the ruins of the castle ; 
it may be we shall there learn some tidings of him.’ 

While they thus spoke, a loud shout among the yeomen 
announced the arrival of him for whom they feared, as they 
learned from the stentorian voice of the Friar himself, long 
before they saw his burly person. 

^ Make room, my merry men ! ’ he exclaimed — ^ room for 
your godly father and his prisoner. Cry welcome once more. 
I come, noble leader, like an eagle with my prey in my clutch.’ 


330 


IVANHOE 


And making his way through the ring, amidst the laughter of 
all around, he appeared in majestic triumph, his huge partizan 
in one hand, and in the other a halter, one end of which was 
fastened to the neck of the unfortunate Isaac of York, who, 
bent down by sorrow and terror, was dragged on by the 
victorious priest, who shouted aloud, ^ Where is Allan-a-Dale, 
to chronicle me in a ballad, or if it were but a lay? By St. 
Hermangild, the jingling crowder is ever out of the way 
where there is an apt theme for exalting valour ! ^ 

^ Curtal priest,^ said the captain, ‘ thou hast been at a wet 
mass this morning, as early as it is. In the name of St. 
Nicholas, whom hast thou got here ? ^ 

^ A captive to my sword and to my lance, noble captain,’ 
replied the clerk of Copmanhurst — ^ to my bow and to my 
halbred, I should rather say; and yet I have redeemed him 
by my divinity from a worse captivity. Speak, Jew — have I 
not ransomed thee from Sathanas? — have I not taught thee 
thy credo, thy pater, and thine Ave Maria? Did I not spend 
the whole night in drinking to thee, and in expounding of 
mysteries ? ’ 

^ For the love of God ! ’ ejaculated the poor Jew, ^ will no 
one take me out of the keeping of this mad — I mean this holy 
man? ’ 

^ How’s this, Jew ? ’ said the Friar, with a menacing aspect ; 
^ dost thou recant, Jew ? Bethink thee, if thou dost relapse 
into thine infidelity, though thou art not so tender as a suck- 
ling pig — I would I had one to break my fast upon — thou 
art not too tough to be roasted ! Be conformable, Isaac, and 
repeat the words after me. Ave Maria! 

‘ Nay, we will have no profanation, mad priest,’ said Locks- 
ley; Het us rather hear where you found this prisoner of 
thine.’ 

^By St. Dunstan,’ said the Friar, ‘I found him where I 
sought for better ware ! I did step into* the cellarage to see 
what might be rescued there ; for though a cup of burnt wine, 
with spice, be an evening’s draught for an emperor, it were 
waste, methought, to let so much good liquor be mulled at 
once : and I had caught up one runlet of sack, and was coming 
to call more aid among these lazy knaves, who are ever to seek 
when a good deed is to be done, when I was avised of a strong 
door. Aha ! ” thought I, “ here is the choicest juice of all in 
this secret crypt ; and the knave butler, being disturbed in his 


IVANHOE 


331 


vocation, hath left the key in the door.’’ In therefore I went, 
and found just nought besides a commodity of rusted chains 
and this dog of a Jew, who presently rendered himself my 
prisoner, rescue or no rescue. I did but refresh myself after 
the fatigue of the action with the unbeliever with one hum- 
ming cup of sack, and was proceeding to lead forth my captive, 
when, crash after crash, as with wild thunder-dint and levin- 
fire, down toppled the masonry of an outer tower — marry be- 
shrew their hands that built it not the firmer ! — and blocked 
up the passage. The roar of one falling tower followed an- 
other. I gave up thought of life ; and deeming it a dishonour 
to one of my profession to pass out of this world in company 
with a J ew, I heaved up my halberd to beat his brains out ; but 
I took pity on his grey hairs, and judged it better to lay down 
the partizan, and take up my spiritual weapon for his con- 
version. And truly, by the blessing of St. Dunstan, the 
seed has been sown in good soil ; only that, with spea(^ing to 
him of mysteries through the whole night, and being in a 
manner fasting — for the few draughts of sack which I sharp- 
ened my wits with were not worth marking — my head is 
wellnigh dizzied, I trow. But I was clean exhausted. Gilbert 
and Wibbald know in what state they found me — quite and 
clean exhausted.’ 

^We can bear witness,’ said Gilbert; ^for when we had 
cleared away the ruin, and by St. Dunstan’s help lighted upon 
the dungeon stair, we found the runlet of sack half-empty, 
the Jew half-dead, and the Friar more than half — exhausted, 
as he calls it.’ 

^ Ye be knaves ! ye lie ! ’ retorted the offended Friar ; ^ it 
was you and your gormandising companions that drank up the 
sack, and called it your morning draught. I am a pagan, an 
I kept it not for the captain’s own throat. But what recks it ? 
The Jew is converted, and understands all I have told him, 
very nearly, if not altogether, as well as myself.’ 

^ Jew,’ said the captain, ^ is this true ? Hast thou renounced 
thine unbelief ? ’ 

^May I so find mercy in your eyes,’ said the Jew, ^as I 
know not one word which the reverend prelate spake to me all 
this fearful night. Alas ! I was so distraught with agony, and 
fear, and grief, that had our holy father Abraham come to 
preach to me, he had found but a deaf listener.’ 

^ Thou liest, Jew, and thou knowest thou dost,’ said the 


332 


IVANHOE 


Friar ; ^ I will remind thee but of one word of our conference : 
thou didst promise to give all thy substance to our holy order/ 

‘ So help me the promise, fair sirs/ said Isaac, even more 
alarmed than before, ^ as no such sounds ever crossed my lips ! 
Alas ! I am an aged beggar’d man — I fear me a childless ; have 
ruth on me, and let me go ! ’ 

^ Nay/ said the Friar, ^ if thou dost retract vows made in 
favour of holy church, thou must do penance/ 

Accordingly, he raised his halberd, and would have laid the 
statf of it lustily on the Jew’s shoulders, had not the Black 
Knight stopped the blow, and thereby transferred the holy 
clerk’s resentment to himself. 

^ By St. Thomas of Kent/ said he, ^ an I buckle to my gear. 
I will teach thee, sir lazy lover, to mell with thine own mat- 
ters, maugre thine iron case there ! ’ 

‘Nay, be not wroth with me/ said the Knight; ‘thou 
knowest I am thy sworn friend and comrade.’ 

‘ I know no such thing,’ answered the Friar ; ‘ and defy thee 
for a meddling coxcomb ! ’ 

‘ Nay, but,’ said the Knight, who seemed to take a pleasure 
in provoking his quondam host, ‘ hast thou forgotten how, that 
for my sake — for I say nothing of the temptation of the flagon 
and the pasty — thou didst break thy vow of fast and vigil ? ’ 

‘ Truly, friend/ said the Friar, clenching his huge fist, ‘ I 
will bestow a buffet on thee.’ 

‘ I accept of no such presents,’ said the Knight ; * ‘I am 
content to take thy cuff as a loan, but I will repay thee with 
usury as deep as ever thy prisoner there exacted in his traffic.’ 

‘ I will prove that presently/ said the Friar. 

‘ Hola ! ’ cried the captain, ‘ what art thou after, mad Friar 
— brawling beneath our trysting-tree ? ’ 

‘ No brawling/ said the Knight; ‘ it is but a friendly inter- 
change of courtesy. Friar, strike an thou darest ; I will stand 
thy blow, if thou wilt stand mine.’ 

‘ Thou hast the advantage with that iron pot on thy head,’ 
said the churchman; ‘but have at thee. Down thou goest, 
an thou wert Goliah of Gath in his hrazen helmet.’ 

The Friar bared his brawny arm up to the elbow, and put- 
ting his full strength to the blow, gave the Knight a buffet 
that might have felled an ox. But his adversary stood firm as 
a rock. A loud shout was uttered by all the yeomen around ; 

* See Richard Coeur-de-Lion. Note 20. 


IVANHOE 


333 


for the clerk’s cuff was proverbial amongst them, and there 
were few who, in jest or earnest, had not had occasion to know 
its vigour. 

" Now, priest,’ said the Knight, pulling off his gauntlet, ' if 
I had vantage on my head, I will have none on my hand ; stand 
fast as a true man.’ 

' Genam meam dedi vapulatori — I have given my cheek to 
the smiter,’ said the priest ; ^ an thou canst stir me from the 
spot, fellow, I will freely bestow on thee the Jew’s ransom.’ 

So spoke the burly priest, assuming, on his part, high de- 
fiance. But who may resist his fate? The buffet of the 
Knight was given with such strength and good-will that the 
Friar rolled head over heels upon the plain, to the great 
amazement of all the spectators. But he arose neither angry 
nor crestfallen. 

^ Brother,’ said he to the Knight, ^ thou shouldst have used 
thy strength with more discretion. I had mumbled but a lame 
mass an thou hadst broken my jaw, for the piper plays ill that 
wants the nether chops. Nevertheless, there is my hand, in 
friendly witness that I will exchange no more cuffs with thee, 
having been a loser by the barter. End now all unkindness. 
Let us put the Jew to ransom, since the leopard will not 
change his spots, and a Jew he will continue to be.’ 

^ The priest,’ said Clement, ^ is not half so confident of the 
Jew’s conversion since he received that buffet on the ear.’ 

^ Go to, knave, what pratest thou of conversions ? What, is 
there no respect ? — all masters and no men ? I tell thee, fel- 
low, I was somewhat totty when I received the good knight’s 
blow, or I had kept my ground under it. But an thou gibest 
more of it, thou shalt learn I can give as well as take.’ 

^ Peace all ! ’ said the captain. ^ And thou, Jew, think of 
thy ransom ; thou needest not to be told that thy race are held 
to be accursed in all Christian communities, and trust me that 
we cannot endure thy presence among us. Think, therefore, 
of an offer, while I examine a prisoner of another cast.’ 

^ Were many of Front-de-Boeuf’s men taken ? ’ demanded 
the Black Knight. 

^None of note enough to be put to ransom,’ answered the 
captain; ^a set of hilding fellows there were, whom we dis- 
missed to find them a new master; enough had been done for 
revenge and profit; the bunch of them were not worth a 
cardecu. The prisoner I speak of is better booty — a jolly 


334 


IVANHOE 


monk riding to visit his leman, an I may judge by his horse- 
gear and wearing apparel. Here cometh the worthy prelate, 
as pert as a pyet.’ And between two yeomen was brought 
before the silvan throne of the outlaw chief our old friend, 
Prior Aymer of Jorvaulx. 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

This comic scene following the capture of Torquilstone is much like 
the comic afterpiece following a tragedy. 

What disposition is made of the booty ? 

What present does the Black Knight accept from l/ocksley 7 
Where is Cedric about to go 7 
What becomes of DeBracy 7 

Describe the night adventure of the Clerk of Copmanhurst, and his 
cuffing match with the Black Knight. 

What boon does Wamba ask of Cedric 7 

Does any remark of Wamba’s appear particularly shrewd 7 
Is the treatment of Isaac really comic 7 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


Flower of warriors, 

How is’t with Titus Lartius ? 

Marcius. As with a man busied about decrees, 
Condemning some to death and some to exile, 

Ransoming him or pitying, threatening the other. 

Coriolanus. 

The captive Abbot’s features and manners exhibited a whim- 
sical mixture of offended pride, and deranged foppery, and 
bodily terror. 

^ Why, how now, my masters ? ’ said he, in a voice in which 
all three emotions were blended. ‘ What order is this among 
ye ? Be ye Turks or Christians, that handle a churchman ? 
Know ye what it is, manus imponere in servos Domini? Ye 
have plundered my mails, torn my cope of curious cut lace, 
which might have served a cardinal. Another in my place 
would have been at his excommunicabo vos ; but I am placable, 
and if ye order forth my palfreys, release my brethren, and 
restore my mails, tell down with all speed an hundred crowns 
to be expended in masses at the high altar of J orvaulx Abbey, 
and make your vow to eat no venison until next Pentecost, it 
may be you shall hear little more of this mad frolic.’ 

^ Holy father,’ said the chief outlaw, ^ it grieves me to 
think that you have met with such usage from any of my 
followers as calls for your fatherly reprehension.’ 

^ Usage ! ’ echoed the priest, encouraged by the mild tone 
of the silvan leader ; ^ it were usage fit for no hound of good 
race, much less for a Christian, far less for a priest, and least 
of all for the prior of the holy community of Jorvaulx. Here 
is a profane and drunken minstrel, called Allan-a-Dale — 
nehulo quidam — who has menaced me with corporal punish- 
ment — nay, with death itself, an I pay not down four hundred 
crowns of ransom, to the boot of all the treasure he hath 
already robbed me of — gold chains and gymmal rings to an 
unknown value; besides what is broken and spoiled among 
their rude hands, such as my pouncet-box and silver crisping- 
tongs.’ 


335 


336 


IVANHOE 


^ It is impossible that Allan-a-Dale can have thus treated a 
man of your reverend bearing/ replied the captain. 

^It is true as the gospel of St. Nicodemus/ said the Prior; 
^he swore, with many a cruel north-country oath, that he 
would hang me up on the highest tree in the greenwood.^ 

^ Did he so in very deed ? Nay, then, reverend father, I 
think you had better comply with his demands, for Allan-a- 
Dale is the very man to abide by his word when he has so 
pledged it.^ * 

^ You do but jest with me,’ said the astounded Prior, with a 
forced laugh ; ^ and I love a good jest with all my heart. But, 
ha ! ha ! ha ! when the mirth has lasted the livelong night, it 
is time to be grave in the morning.’ 

^ And I am as grave as a father confessor,’ replied the out- 
law ; ^ you must pay a round ransom. Sir Prior, or your con- 
vent is likely to be called to a new election; for your place 
will know you no more.’ 

^ Are ye Christians,’ said the Prior, ^ and hold this language 
to a churchman ? ’ 

^ Christians ! ay, marry are we, and have divinity among us 
to boot,’ answered the outlaw. ^ Let our buxom chaplain stand 
forth, and expound to this reverend father the texts which 
concern this matter.’ 

The Friar, half-drunk, half-sober, had huddled a friar’s 
frock over his green cassock, and now summoning together 
whatever scraps of learning he had acquired by rote in former 
days — ^ Holy father,’ said he, Deus faciat salvam henignita- 
tern vestram — ^you are welcome to the greenwood.’ 

‘ What profane mummery is this ? ’ said the Prior. ^ Friend, 
if thou be’st indeed of the church, it were a better deed to show 
me how I may escape from these men’s hands than to stand 
ducking and grinning here like a morris-dancer.’ 

^ Truly, reverend father,’ said the Friar, ^ I know but one 
mode in which thou mayst escape. This is St. Andrew’s day 
with us : we are taking our tithes.’ 

^ But not of the church, then, I trust, my good brother ? ’ 
said the Prior. 

^ Of church and lay,’ said the Friar ; ^ and therefore. Sir 
Prior, facile vohis amicos de mammone iniquitatis — make 

* A commissary is said to have received similar consolation from a 
certain commander-in-chief, to whom he complained that a general 
officer had used some such threat towards him as that in the text. 


IVANHOE 


337 


yourselves friends of the mammon of unrighteousness, for no 
other friendship is like to serve your turn/ 

^ I love a jolly woodsman at heart/ said the Prior, softening 
his tone ; ^ come, ye must not deal too hard with me. I can 
well of woodcraft, and can wind a horn clear and lustily, and 
hollo till every oak rings again. Come, ye must not deal too 
hard with me ! 

‘ Give him a horn,’ said the outlaw ; ^ we will prove the skill 
he boasts of.’ 

The Prior Aymer winded a blast accordingly. The cap- 
tain shook his head. 

^ Sir Prior,’ he said, ^ thou blowest a merry note, but it may 
not ransom thee; we cannot afford, as the legend on a good 
knight’s shield hath it, to set thee free for a blast. Moreover, 
I have found thee : thou art one of those who, with new French 
graces and tra-li-ras, disturb the ancient English bugle notes. 
Prior, that last flourish on the recheat hath added fifty crowns 
to thy ransom, for corrupting the true old manly blasts of 
venerie.’ 

^Well, friend,’ said the Abbot, peevishly, Hhou art ill to 
please with thy woodcraft. I pray thee be more conformable 
in this matter of my ransom. At a word — since I must needs, 
for once, hold a candle to the devil — what ransom am I to pay 
for walking on Watling Street without having fifty men at my 
back ? ’ 

^ Were it not well,’ said the lieutenant of the gang apart to 
the captain, Uhat the Prior should name the Jew’s ransom, 
and the Jew name the Prior’s ? ’ 

^Thou art a mad knave,’ said the captain, ^hut thy plan 
transcends ! Here, Jew, step forth. Look at that holy Father 
Aymer, Prior of the rich Abbey of Jorvaulx,* and tell us at 
what ransom we should hold him ? Thou knowest the income 
of his convent, I warrant thee.’ 

' 0, assuredly,’ said Isaac. ^ I have trafficked with the good 
fathers, and bought wheat and barley, and fruits of the earth, 
and also much wool. 0, it is a rich abbey-stede, and they do 
live upon the fat, and drink the sweet wines upon the lees, 
these good fathers of Jorvaulx. Ah, if an outcast like me had 
such a home to go to, and such incomings by the year and by 
the month, I would pay much gold and silver to redeem my 
captivity.’ 


* See Note 21. 


338 


IVANHOE 


^ Hound of a Jew ! ’ exclaimed the Prior, ^ no one knows 
better than thy own cursed self that our holy house of God 
is indebted for the finishing of our chancel ^ 

^ And for the storing of your cellars in the last season with 
the due allowance of Gascon wine,’ interrupted the Jew ; ‘ but 
that — that is small matters.’ 

'Hear the infidel dog!’ said the churchman; 'he jangles 
as if our holy community did come under debts for the wines 
we have a license to drink propter necessitatem et ad frigus 
depellendum. The circumcised villain blasphemeth the 
holy church, and Christian men listen and rebuke him 
, not ! ’ 

' All this helps nothing,’ said the leader. ' Isaac, pronounce 
what he may pay, without flaying both hide and hair.’ 

' An six hundred crowns,’ said Isaac, ' the good Prior might 
well pay to your honoured valours, and never sit less soft in his 
stall.’ 

' Six hundred crowns,’ said the leader, gravely ; ' I am con- 
tented — thou hast well spoken, Isaac — six hundred crowns. 
It is a sentence. Sir Prior.’ 

' A sentence ! — a sentence ! ’ exclaimed the band ; ' Solomon 
had not done it better.’ 

' Thou hearest thy doom. Prior,’ said the leader. 

' Ye are mad, my masters,’ said the Prior ; 'where am I to 
find such a sum? If I sell the very pyx and candlesticks on 
the altar at J orvaulx, I shall scarce raise the half ; and it will 
be necessary for that purpose that I go to J orvaulx myself ; ye 
may retain as borrows my two priests.’ 

' That will be but blind trust,’ said the outlaw ; ' we will 
retain thee. Prior, and send them to fetch thy ransom. Thou 
shalt not want a cup of wine and a collop of venison the while ; 
and if thou lovest woodcraft, thou shalt see such as your north 
country never witnessed.’ 

' Or, if so please you,’ said Isaac, willing to curry favour 
with the outlaws, 'I can send to York for the six hundred 
crowns, out of certain monies in my hands, if so be that the 
most reverend Prior present will grant me a quittance.’ 

' He shall grant thee whatever thou dost list, Isaac,’ said the 
captain ; ' and thou shalt lay down the redemption money for 
Prior Aymer as well as for thyself.’ 

'For myself! ah, courageous sirs,’ said the Jew, 'I am a 
broken and impoverished man; a beggar’s staff must be my 


IVANHOE 


339 


portion through life, supposing I were to pay you fifty 
crowns/ 

^ The Prior shall judge of that matter/ replied the captain. 
^ How say you, Father Aymer? Can the Jew afford a good 
ransom ? ’ 

* Can afford a ransom ? ^ answered the Prior. ^ Is he not 
Isaac of York, rich enough to redeem the captivity of the ten 
tribes of Israel who were led into Assyrian bondage ? I have 
seen but little of him myself, but our cellarer and treasurer 
have dealt largely with him, and report says that his house at 
York is so full of gold and silver as is a shame in any Christian 
land. Marvel it is to all living Christian hearts that such 
gnawing adders should be suffered to eat into the bowels of the 
state, and even of the holy church herself, with foul usuries 
and extortions.’ 

^ Hold, father,’ said the Jew, ' mitigate and assuage your 
choler. I pray of your reverence to remember that I force my 
monies upon no one. But when churchman and layman, 
prince and prior, knight and priest, come knocking to Isaac’s 
door, they borrow not his shekels with these uncivil terms. It 
is then, Friend Isaac, will you pleasure us in this matter, 
and our day shall be truly kept, so God sa’ me ? ” — and Kind 
Isaac, if ever you served man, show yourself a friend in this 
need ! ” And when the day comes, and I ask my own, then 
what hear I but '^Damned Jew,” and The curse of Egypt 
on your tribe,” and all that may stir up the rude and uncivil 
populace against poor strangers ! ’ 

^ Prior,’ said the captain, ' J ew though he be, he hath in this 
spoken well. Do thou, therefore, name his ransom, as he 
named thine, without farther rude terms.’ 

^Kone but latro famosus — the interpretation whereof,’ said 
the Prior, ^will I give at some other time and tide — would 
place a Christian prelate and an unbaptized Jew upon the 
same bench. But since ye require me to put a price upon this 
caitiff, I tell you openly that ye will wrong yourselves if you 
take from him a penny under a thousand crowns.’ 

^ A sentence ! — a sentence ! ’ exclaimed the chief outlaw. 

^ A sentence ! — a sentence ! ’ shouted his assessors ; ^ the 
Christian has shown his good nurture, and dealt with us more 
generously than the Jew.’ 

^ The God of my fathers help me ! ’ said the Jew ; ' will ye 
bear to the ground an impoverished creature ? I am this day 


340 


IVANHOE 


childless, and will ye deprive me of the means of liveli- 
hood ? ’ 

^Thou wilt have the less to provide for, Jew, if thou art 
childless,^ said Aymer. 

" Alas ! my lord,' said Isaac, " your law permits you not to 
know how the child of our bosom is entwined with the strings 
of our heart. 0 Kebecca ! daughter of my beloved Kachael ! 
were each leaf on that tree a zecchin, and each zecchin mine 
own, all that mass of wealth would I give to know whether 
thou art alive, and escaped the hands of the Nazarene ! ' 

^ Was not thy daughter dark-haired ? ' said one of the out- 
laws; ^and wore she not a veil of twisted sendal, broidered 
with silver ? ' 

‘ She did ! — she did ! ' said the old man, trembling with 
eagerness, as formerly with fear. ‘ The blessing of J acob be 
upon thee ! canst thou tell me aught of her safety ? ' 

^ It was she, then,’ said the yeoman, ^ who was carried off by 
the proud Templar, when he broke through our ranks on yes- 
ter-even. I had drawn my bow to send a shaft after him, but 
spared him even for the sake of the damsel, who I feared 
might take harm from the arrow.’ 

‘ Oh ! ’ answered the Jew, ^ I would to God thou hadst shot, 
though the arrow had pierced her bosom ! Better the tomb of 
her fathers than the dishonourable couch of the licentious and 
savage Templar. Ichabod ! Ichabod ! the glory hath departed 
from my house I ’ 

^ Friends,’ said the chief, looking round, ‘ the old man is 
but a Jew, natheless his grief touches me. Deal uprightly 
with us, Isaac : will paying this ransom of a thousand crowns 
leave thee altogether penniless ? ’ 

Isaac, recalled to think of his worldly goods, the love of 
which, by dint of inveterate habit, contended even with his 
parental affection, grew pale, stammered, and could not deny 
there might be some small surplus. 

^ Well, go to, what though there be,’ said the outlaw, ^ we 
will not reckon with thee too closely. Without treasure thou 
mayst as well hope to redeem thy child from the clutches of 
Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert as to shoot a stag-royal with a 
headless shaft. We will take thee at the same ransom with 
Prior Aymer, or rather at one hundred crowns lower, which 
hundred crowns shall be mine own peculiar loss, and not 
light upon this worshipful community ; and so we shall avoid 


IVANHOE 


341 


the heinous offence of rating a Jew merchant as high as a 
Christian prelate, and thou wilt have six [five] hundred 
crowns remaining to treat for thy daughter’s ransom. Tem- 
plars love the glitter of silver shekels as well as the sparkle 
of black eyes. Hasten to make thy crowns chink in the ear 
of De Bois-Guilbert, ere worse comes of it. Thou wilt find 
him, as our scouts have brought notice, at the next preceptory 
house of his order. Said I well, my merry mates ? ’ 

The yeomen expressed their wonted acquiescence in their 
leader’s opinion ; and Isaac, relieved of one half of his appre- 
hensions, by learning that his daughter lived, and might pos- 
sibly be ransomed, threw himself at the feet of the generous 
outlaw, and, rubbing his beard against his buskins, sought to 
kiss the hem of his green cassock. The captain drew himself 
back, and extricated himself from the J ew’s grasp, not without 
some marks of contempt. 

^Hay, beshrew thee, man, up with thee! I am English 
born, and love no such Eastern prostrations. Kneel to God, 
and not to a poor sinner like me.’ 

^ Ay, J ew,’ said Prior Aymer, ^ kneel to God, as represented 
in the servant of His altar, and who knows, with thy sincere 
repentance and due gifts to the shrine of St. Robert, what 
grace thou mayst acquire for thyself and thy daughter Re- 
becca ? I grieve for the maiden, for she is of fair and comely 
countenance : I beheld her in the lists of Ashby. Also Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert is one with whom I may do much: bethink 
thee how thou mayst deserve my good word with him.’ 

^Alas! alas!’ said the Jew, ^on every hand the spoilers 
arise against me : I am given as a prey unto the Assyrian, and 
a prey unto him of Egypt.’ 

^And what else should be the lot of thy accursed race?’ 
answered the Prior; ^for what saith Holy Writ, verhum 
Domini projecerunt, et sapientia est nulla in eis — they have 
cast forth the Word of the Lord, and there is no wisdom in 
them — propterea dabo mulieres eorum exteris — I will give 
their women to strangers, that is to the Templar, as in the 
present matter — et thesauros eorum hceredibus alienis — and 
their treasures to others, as in the present case to these honest 
gentlemen.’ 

Isaac groaned deeply, and began to wring his hands, and to 
relapse into his state of desolation and despair. But the 
leader of the yeomen led him aside. 


342 


IVANHOE 


^ Advise thee well, Isaac/ said Locksley, ' what thou wilt do 
in this matter; my counsel to thee is to make a friend of this 
churchman. He is vain, Isaac, and he is covetous; at least 
he needs money to supply his profusion. Thou canst easily 
gratify his greed; for think not that I am blinded by thy 
pretexts of poverty. I am intimately acquainted, Isaac, with 
the very iron chest in which thou dost keep thy money-bags. 
What ! know I not the great stone beneath the apple-tree, that 
leads into the vaulted chamber under thy garden at York ? ’ 
The J ew grew as pale as death. ^ But fear nothing from me,’ 
continued the yeoman, ^ for we are of old acquainted. Dost 
thou not remember the sick yeoman whom thy fair daughter 
Rebecca redeemed from the gyves at York, and kept him in 
thy house till his health was restored, when thou didst dismiss 
him recovered, and with a piece of money? Usurer as thou 
art, thou didst never place coin at better interest than that 
poor silver mark, for it has this day saved thee five hundred 
crowns.’ 

‘ And thou art he whom we called Diccon Bend-the-Bow ? ’ 
said Isaac ; ^ I thought ever I knew the accent of thy voice.’ 

^ I am Bend-the-Bow,’ said the captain, ^ and Locksley, and 
have a good name besides all these.’ 

^But thou art mistaken, good Bend-the-Bow, concerning 
that same vaulted apartment. So help me Heaven, as there is 
nought in it but some merchandises which I will gladly part 
with to you — one hundred yards of Lincoln green to make 
doublets to thy men, and a hundred staves of Spanish yew to 
make bows, and one hundred silken bowstrings, tough, round, 
and sound — these will I send thee for thy good-will, honest 
Diccon, an thou wilt keep silence about the vault, my good 
Diccon.’ 

^ Silent as a dormouse,’ said the outlaw ; ^ and never trust 
me but I am grieved for thy daughter. But I may not help it. 
The Templar’s lances are too strong for my archery in the 
open field ; they would scatter us like dust. Had I but known 
it was Rebecca when she was borne off, something might have 
been done; but now thou must needs proceed by policy. 
Come, shall I treat for thee with the Prior ? ’ 

" In God’s name, Diccon, an thou canst, aid me to recover 
the child of my bosom ! ’ 

"Do not thou interrupt me with thine ill-timed avarice/ 
said the outlaw, " and I will deal with him in thy behalf.’ 


IVANHOE 


343 


He then turned from the Jew, who followed him, however, 
as closely as his shadow. 

^ Prior Aymer,’ said the captain, ‘ come apart with me under 
this tree. Men say thou dost love wine and a lady’s smile 
better than beseems thy order. Sir Priest; but with that I 
have nought to do. I have heard, too, thou dost love a brace 
of good dogs and a fleet horse, and it may well be that, loving 
things which are costly to come by, thou hatest not a purse of 
gold. But I have never heard that thou didst love oppression 
or cruelty. Now, here is Isaac willing to give thee the means 
of pleasure and pastime in a bag containing one hundred 
marks of silver, if thy intercession with thine ally the Templar 
shall avail to procure the freedom of his daughter.’ 

^ In safety and honour, as when taken from me,’ said the 
J ew, ^ otherwise it is no bargain.’ 

^ Peace, Isaac,’ said the outlaw, ^ or I give up thine interest. 
What say you to this my purpose. Prior Aymer ? ’ 

^ The matter,’ quoth the Prior, ‘ is of a mixed condition ; 
for, if I do a good deed on the one hand, yet, on the other, it 
goeth to the vantage of a Jew, and in so much is against my 
conscience. Yet, if the Israelite will advantage the church by 
giving me somewhat over to the building of our dortour, I 
will take it on my conscience to aid him in the matter of his 
daughter.’ 

^ For a score of marks to the dortour,’ said the outlaw — 
^ Be still, I say, Isaac ! — or for a brace of silver candlesticks to 
the altar, we will not stand with you.’ 

^ Nay, but, good Diccon Bend-the-Bow,’ said Isaac, endeav- 
ouring to interpose. 

^ Good Jew — good beast — good earthworm ! ’ said the yeo- 
man, losing patience ; " an thou dost go on to put thy filthy 
lucre in the balance with thy daughter’s life and honour, by 
Heaven, I will strip thee of every maravedi thou hast in the 
world before three days are out ! ’ 

Isaac shrunk together, and was silent. 

^ And what pledge am I to have for all this ? ’ said the 
Prior. 

‘'When Isaac returns successful through your mediation,’ 
said the outlaw, " I swear by St. Hubert, I will see that he 
pays thee the money in good silver, or I will reckon with him 
for it in such sort, he had better have paid twenty such 
sums.^ 


344 


lYANHOE 


^ Well then, Jew/ said Aymer, ^ since I must needs meddle 
in this matter, let me have the use of thy writing-tablets — 
though, hold — rather than use thy pen, I would fast for 
twenty-four hours, and where shall I find one ? ’ 

‘If your holy scruples can dispense with using the Jew’s 
tablets, for the pen I can find a remedy/ said the yeoman; 
and, bending his bow, he aimed his shaft at a wild goose which 
was soaring over their heads, the advanced guard of a phalanx 
of his tribe, which were winging their way to the distant and 
solitary fens of Holderness. The bird came fluttering down, 
transfixed with the arrow. 

‘ There, Prior/ said the captain, ‘ are quills enow to supply 
all the monks of J orvaulx for the next hundred years, an they 
take not to writing chronicles.’ 

The Prior sat down, and at great leisure indicted an epistle 
to Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and having carefully sealed up the 
tablets, delivered them to the J ew, saying, ‘ This will be thy 
safe-conduct to the preceptory of Templestowe, and as I think, 
is most likely to accomplish the delivery of thy daughter, if 
it be well backed with proffers of advantage and commodity 
at thine own hand ; for, trust me well, the good knight Bois- 
Guilbert is of their confraternity that do naught for naught.’ 

‘ Well, Prior,’ said the outlaw, ‘ I will detain thee no longer 
here than to give the Jew a quittance for the six hundred 
crowns at which thy ransom is fixed — I accept of him for my 
paymaster ; and if I hear that ye boggle at allowing him in his 
accompts the sum so paid by him, St. Mary refuse me, an I 
burn not the abbey over thine head, though I hang ten years 
the sooner ! ’ 

With a much worse grace than that wherewith he had 
penned the letter to Bois-Guilbert, the Prior wrote an acquit- 
tance, discharging Isaac of York of six hundred crowns, ad- 
vanced to him in his need for acquittal of his ransom, and 
faithfully promising to hold true compt with him for that 
sum. 

‘ And now/ said Prior Aymer, ‘ I will pray you of restitu- 
tion of my mules and palfreys, and the freedom of the rev- 
erend brethren attending upon me, and also of the gymmal 
rings, jewels, and fair vestures of which I have been despoiled, 
having now satisfied you for my ransom as a true prisoner.’ 

‘ Touching your brethren. Sir Prior,’ said Locksley, ‘ they 
shall have present freedom, it were unjust to detain them; 


IVANHOE 


345 


touching your horses and mules, they shall also be restored, 
with such spending-money as may enable you to reach York, 
for it were cruel to deprive you of the means of Journeying. 
But as concerning rings. Jewels, chains, and what else, you 
must understand that we are men of tender consciences, and 
will not yield to a venerable man like yourself, who should be 
dead to the vanities of this life, the strong temptation to break 
the rule of his foundation, by wearing rings, chains, or other 
vain gauds.^ 

^ Think what you do, my masters,’ said the Prior, ^ ere you 
put your hand on the church’s patrimony. These things are 
inter res sacras, and I wot not what Judgment might ensue 
were they to be handled by laical hands.’ 

^ I will take care of that, reverend Prior,’ said the hermit of 
Copmanhurst ; ^ for I will wear them myself.’ 

^ Friend, or brother,’ said the Prior, in answer to this solu- 
tion of his doubts, ^ if thou hast really taken religious orders, I 
pray thee to look how thou wilt answer to thine official for 
the share thou hast taken in this day’s work.’ 

^ Friend Prior,’ returned the hermit, ^ you are to know that 
I belong to a little diocese where I am my own diocesan, and 
care as little for the Bishop of York as I do for the Abbot of 
Jorvaulx, the Prior, and all the convent.’ 

^ Thou art utterly irregular,’ said the Prior — ^ one of those 
disorderly men who, taking on them the sacred character 
without due cause, profane the holy rites, and endanger the 
souls of those who take counsel at their hands; lapides pro 
pane condonantes iis, giving them stones instead of bread, as 
the Vulgate hath it.’ 

^ Nay,’ said the Friar, ^ an my brain-pan could have been 
broken by Latin, it had not held so long together. I say, 
that easing a world of such misproud priests as thou art of 
their Jewels and their gimcracks is a lawful spoiling of the 
Egyptians.’ 

^ Thou b.e’st a hedge-priest,’ * said the Prior, in great wrath, 
excommunicdho vosf 

^ Thou be’st thyself more like a thief and a heretic,’ said 
the Friar, equally indignant ; ^ I will pouch up no such affront 
before my parishioners as thou thinkest it not shame to put 
upon me, although I be a reverend brother to thee. Ossa ejus 
perfringam, I will break your bones, as the Vulgate hath it.’ 

* See ISTote 23. 


346 


lYANHOE 


^ Hola ! ^ cried the captain, ^ come the reverend brethren to 
such terms ? Keep thine assurance of peace, Friar. Prior, an 
thou hast not made thy peace perfect with God, provoke the 
Friar no further. Hermit, let the reverend father depart in 
peace, as a ransomed man.’ 

The yeomen separated the incensed priests, who continued 
to raise their voices, vituperating each other in bad Latin, 
which the Prior delivered the more fluently, and the hermit 
with the greater vehemence. The Prior at length recollected 
himself sufficiently to be aware that he was compromising his 
dignity by squabbling with such a hedge-priest as the outlaw’s 
chaplain, and being joined by his attendants, rode off with 
considerably less pomp, and in a much more apostolical condi- 
tion, so far as worldly matters were concerned, than he had 
exhibited before this rencounter. 

It remained that the Jew should produce some security for 
the ransom which he was to pay on the Prior’s account, as well 
as upon his own. He gave, accordingly, an order sealed with 
his signet, to a brother of his tribe at York, requiring him to 
pay to the bearer the sum of a thousand [eleven hundred] 
crowns, and to deliver certain merchandises specified in the 
note. 

^ My brother Sheva,’ he said, groaning deeply, ^ hath the key 
of my warehouses.’ 

^ And of the vaulted chamber,’ whispered Locksley. 

^ Ko, no — ^may Heaven forefend ! ’ said Isaac ; ^ evil is the 
hour that let any one whomsoever into that secret ! ’ 

^ It is safe with me,’ said the outlaw, ^ so be that this thy 
scroll produce the sum therein nominated and set down. But 
what now, Isaac? art dead? art stupefied? hath the payment 
of a thousand crowns put thy daughter’s peril out of thy 
mind ? ’ 

The Jew started to his feet — ^ Ko, Diccon, no; I will pres- 
ently set forth. Farewell, thou whom I may not call good, 
and dare not, and will not, call evil.’ 

•Yet, ere Isaac departed, the outlaw chief bestowed on him 
this parting advice: ^Be liberal of thine offers, Isaac, and 
spare not thy purse for thy daughter’s safety. Credit me, 
that the gold thou shalt spare in her cause will hereafter give 
thee as much agony as if it were poured molten down thy 
throat.’ 

Isaac acquiesced with a deep groan, and set forth on his 


IVANHOE 


/ 


347 


journey, accompanied by two tall foresters, who were to be his 
guides, and at the same time his guards, through the wood. 

The Black Knight, who had seen with no small interest 
these various proceedings, now took his leave of the outlaw in 
turn ; nor could he avoid expressing his surprise at having wit- 
nessed so much of civil policy amongst persons cast out from 
all the ordinary protection and influence of the laws. 

‘ Good fruit. Sir Knight,’ said the yeoman, ^ will some- 
times grow on a sorry tree; and evil times are not always 
productive of evil alone and unmixed. Amongst those who 
are drawn into this lawless state, there are, doubtless, numbers 
who wish to exercise its license with some moderation, and 
some who regret, it may be, that they are obliged to follow 
such a trade at all.’ 

^ And to one of those,’ said the Knight, ^ I am now, I pre- 
sume, speaking ? ’ 

^ Sir Knight,’ said the outlaw, ^ we have each our secret. 
You are welcome to form your judgment of me, and I may use 
my conjectures touching you, though neither of our shafts may 
hit the mark they are shot at. But as I do not pray to be 
admitted into your mystery, be not offended that I preserve 
my own.’ 

^ I crave pardon, brave outlaw,’ said the Knight, ^ your re- 
proof is just. But it may be we shall meet hereafter with less 
of concealment on either side. Meanwhile we part friends, do 
we not ? ’ 

^ There is my hand upon it,’ said Locksley ; ^ and I will call 
it the hand of a true Englishman, though an outlaw for the 
present.’ 

^ And there is mine in return,’ said the Knight, ^ and I hold 
it honoured by being clasped with yours. For he that does 
good, having the unlimited power to do evil, deserves praise 
not only for the good which he performs, but for the evil 
which he forbears. Fare thee well, gallant outlaw ! ’ 

Thus parted that fair fellowship ; and he of the Fetterlock, 
mounting upon his strong war-horse, rode off through the 
forest. 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

Scott continties in the same comic vein. It was a happy thought to 
confront Isaac and the Prior, letting each name the ransom of the other ; 


348 


IVANHOE 


and then to bring the Prior and the Clerk to quarrel over the rings and 
jewels. 

Under what circumstances was the Prior captured ? 

What is the final settlement in regard to the ransoms ? 

What hold has Uocksley on the Prior and Isaac ? 

Describe the parting between Docksley and the Black Knight. 

What incidents carry the reader’s attention to the subsequent narra- 
tive? 


CHAPTEE XXXIV 


King John. I’ll tell thee what, my friend, 

He is a very serpent in my way ; 

And wheresoe’er this foot of mine doth tread, 

He lies before me. Dost thou understand me ? 

King John. 

There was brave feasting in the Castle of York, to which 
Prince John had invited those nobles, prelates, and leaders by 
whose assistance he hoped to carry through his ambitious 
projects upon his brother’s throne. Waldemar Fitzurse, his 
able and politic agent, was at secret work among them, tem- 
pering all to that pitch of courage which was necessary in 
making an open declaration of their purpose. But their en- 
terprise was delayed by the absence of more than one main 
limb of the confederacy. The stubborn and daring, though 
brutal, courage of Front-de-Boeuf ; the buoyant spirits and 
bold bearing of De Bracy; the sagacity, martial experience, 
and renowned valour of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, were im- 
portant to the success of their conspiracy ; and, while cursing 
in secret their unnecessary and unmeaning absence, neither 
John nor his adviser dared to proceed without them. Isaac 
the Jew also seemed to have vanished, and with him the hope 
of certain sums of money, making up the subsidy for which 
Prince J ohn had contracted with that Israelite and his 
brethren. This deficiency was likely to prove perilous in an 
emergency so critical. 

It was on the morning after the fall of Torquilstone, that a 
confused report began to spread abroad in the city of York 
that De Bracy and Bois-Guilbert, with their confederate 
Front-de-Boeuf, had been taken or slain. Waldemar brought 
the rumour to Prince John, announcing, that he feared its 
truth the more that they had set out with a small attendance, 
for the purpose of committing an assault on the Saxon Cedric 
and his attendants. At another time the Prince would have 
treated this deed of violence as a good jest; but now that it 
interfered with and impeded his own plans, he exclaimed 

349 


350 


IVANHOE 


against the perpetrators, and spoke of the broken laws, and 
the infringement of public order and of private property, in 
a tone which might have become King Alfred. 

‘ The unprincipled marauders ! ’ he said ; ^ were I ever to 
become monarch of England, I would hang such transgressors 
over the drawbridges of their own castles.^ 

^ But to become monarch of England,^ said his Ahithophel, 
coolly, ^ it is necessary not only that your Grace should endure 
the transgressions of these unprincipled marauders, but that 
you should afford them your protection, notwithstanding your 
laudable zeal for the laws they are in the habit of infringing. 
We shall be finely helped, if the churl Saxons should have 
realised your Grace’s vision of converting feudal drawbridges 
into gibbets; and yonder bold-spirited Cedric seemeth one to 
whom such an imagination might occur. Your Grace is well 
aware, it will be dangerous to stir without Front-de-Boeuf, De 
Bracy, and the Templar; and yet we have gone too far to 
recede with safety.’ 

Prince John struck his forehead with impatience, and then 
began to stride up and down the apartment. 

^ The villains,’ he said — ^ the base, treacherous villains, to 
desert me at this pinch ! ’ 

‘^Kay, say rather the feather-pated, giddy madmen,’ said 
Waldemar, ^ who must be toying with follies when such busi- 
ness was in hand.’ 

^ What is to be done ? ’ said the Prince, stopping short 
before Waldemar. 

‘ I know nothing which can be done,’ answered his counsel- 
lor, ^ save that which I have already taken order for. I came 
not to bewail this evil chance with your Grace until I had 
done my best to remedy it.’ 

^ Thou art ever my better angel, Waldemar,’ said the 
Prince ; ‘ and when I have such a chancellor to advise withal, 
the reign of J ohn will be renowned in our annals. What hast 
thou commanded?’ 

' I have ordered Louis Winkelbrand, De Bracy’s lieutenant, 
to cause his trumpet sound to horse, and to display his banner, 
and to set presently forth towards the castle of Front-de- 
Boeuf, to do what yet may be done for the succour of our 
friends.’ 

Prince John’s face flushed with the pride of a spoilt child, 
who has undergone what it conceives to be an insult. 


IVANHOE 


351 


^ By the face of God ! ^ he said, ‘ Waldemar Fitzurse, much 
hast thou taken upon thee! and over malapert thou wert to 
cause trumpet to blow, or banner to be raised, in a town 
where ourselves were in presence, without our express com- 
mand/ 

crave your Grace’s pardon,’ said Fitzurse, internally 
cursing the idle vanity of his patron ; ^ but when time pressed, 
and even the loss of minutes might be fatal, I judged it best to 
take this much burden upon me, in a matter of such im- 
portance to your Grace’s interest/ 

^ Thou art pardoned, Fitzurse,’ said the Prince, gravely ; 

^ thy purpose hath atoned for thy hasty rashness. But whom 
have we here ? De Bracy himself, by the rood ! and in strange 
guise doth he come before us.’ 

It was indeed De Bracy, ‘ bloody with spurring, fiery red 
with speed.’ His armour bore all the marks of the late obsti- 
nate fray, being broken, defaced, and stained with blood in 
many places, and covered with clay and dust from the crest 
to the spur. Undoing his helmet, he placed it on the table, 
and stood a moment as if to collect himself before he told his 
news. 

^ De Bracy,’ said Prince J ohn, ^ what means this ? Speak, I 
charge thee ! Are the Saxons in rebellion ? ’ 

^ Speak, De Bracy,’ said Fitzurse, almost in the same mo- 
ment with his master, ^ thou wert wont to be a man. Where is 
the Templar ? where Front-de-Bceuf ? ’ 

^ The Templar is fled,’ said De Bracy ; ‘ Front-de-Boeuf you 
will never see more. He has found a red grave among the 
blazing rafters of his own castle, and I alone am escaped to tell 
you.’ 

^ Cold news,’ said Waldemar, ^ to us, though you speak of 
fire and conflagration.’ 

^ The worst news is not yet said,’ answered De Bracy ; and, 
coming up to Prince John, he uttered in a low and emphatic 
tone — ^ Eichard is in England ; I have seen and spoken with 
him.’ 

Prince John turned pale, tottered, and caught at the back 
of an oaken bench to support himself, much like to a man who 
receives an arrow in his bosom. 

^ Thou ravest, De Bracy,’ said Fitzurse, ‘ it cannot be.’ 

" It is as true as truth itself,’ said De Bracy ; ‘ I was his 
prisoner, and spoke with him.’ 


35 ^ 


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^ With Eichard Plantagenet, sayest thou ? ’ continued 
Fitzurse. 

^With Eichard Plantagenet/ replied De Bracy — ^with 
Eichard Coeur-de-Lion — with Eichard of England/ 

‘ And thou wert his prisoner? ^ said Waldemar; ^ he is then 
at the head of a power 

^ N’o; only a few outlawed yeomen were around him, and to 
these his person is unknown. I heard him say he was about to 
depart from them. He joined them only to assist at the 
storming of Torquilstone.^ 

^ Ay/ said Fitzurse, ^ such is indeed the fashion of Eichard 
— a true knight-errant he, and will wander in wild adventure, 
trusting the prowess of his single arm, like any Sir Guy or 
Sir Bevis, while the weighty affairs of his kingdom slumber, 
and his own safety is endangered. What dost thou propose 
to do, De Bracy ? ^ 

^I?, I offered Eichard the service of my Free Lances, and 
he refused them. I will lead them to Hull, seize on shipping, 
and embark for Flanders ; thanks to the bustling times, a man 
of action will always find employment. And thou, Waldemar, 
wilt thou take lance and shield, and lay down thy policies, 
and wend along with me, and share the fate which God sends 
us? ’ 

^ I am too old, Maurice, and I have a daughter,^ answered 
Waldemar. 

^ Give her to me, Fitzurse, and I will maintain her as fits her 
rank, with the help of lance and stirrup/ said De Bracy. 

^ Hot so/ answered Fitzurse ; ^ I will take sanctuary in this 
church of St. Peter ; the Archbishop is my sworn brother.^ 

During this discourse. Prince John had gradually awakened 
from the stupor into which he had been thrown by the un- 
expected intelligence, and had been attentive to the conversa- 
tion which passed betwixt his followers. ^ They fall off from 
me/ he said to himself: Hhey hold no more by me than a 
withered leaf by the bough when a breeze blows on it ! Hell 
and fiends! can I shape no means for myself when I am 
deserted by these cravens?^ He paused, and there was an 
expression of diabolical passion in the constrained laugh with 
which he at length broke in on their conversation. 

^Ha, ha, ha! my good lords, by the light of Our Lady’s 
brow, I held ye sage men, bold men, ready-witted men, loving 
things which are costly to come by ; yet ye throw down wealth, 


IVANHOE 


353 


honour, pleasure, all that our noble game promised you, at 
the moment it might be won by one bold cast ! ^ 

‘ I understand you not,’ said De Bracy. ‘ As soon as Eich- 
ard’s return is blown abroad, he will be at the head of an army, 
and all is then over with us. I would counsel you, my lord, 
either to fly to France or take the protection of the Queen 
Mother.’ 

^ I seek no safety for myself,’ said Prince John, haughtily ; 
Hhat I could secure by a word spoken to my brother. But 
although you, De Bracy, and you, Waldemar Fitzurse, are so 
ready to abandon me, I should not greatly delight to see your 
heads blackening on Clifford’s gate yonder. Thinkest thou, 
Waldemar, that the wily Archbishop will not suffer thee to be 
taken from the very horns of the altar, would it make his 
peace with King Eichard? And forgottest thou, De Bracy, 
that Eobert Estoteville lies betwixt thee and Hull with all his 
forces, and that the Earl of Essex is gathering his followers ? 
If, we had reason to fear these levies even before Eidiard’s 
return, trowest thou there is any doubt now which party their 
leaders will take? Trust me, Estoteville alone has strength 
enough to drive all thy Free Lances into the Humber.’ Wal- 
demar Fitzurse and De Bracy looked in each other’s faces with 
blank dismay. ^ There is but one road to safety,’ continued 
the Prince, and his brow grew black as midnight ; ^ this object 
of our terror journeys alone; he must be met withal.’ 

^Not by me,’ said De Bracy, hastily; ‘I was his prisoner, 
and he took me to mercy. I will not harm a feather in his 
crest.’ 

^ Who spoke of harming him ? ’ said Prince J ohn, with a 
hardened laugh; ‘the knave will say next that I meant he 
should slay him! Ko — a prison were better; and whether 
in Britain or Austria, what matters it? Things will be but 
as they were when we commenced our enterprise. It was 
founded on the hope that Eichard would remain a captive in 
German5^ Our uncle [relative] Eobert lived and died in the 
castle of Cardiff.’ 

‘ Ay, but,’ said Waldemar, ‘ your sire [ancestor] Henry sate 
more firm in his seat than your Grace can. I say the best 
prison is that which is made by the Sexton : no dungeon like 
a church-vault ! I have said my say.’ 

‘ Prison or tomb,’ said De Bracy, ‘ I wash my hands of the 
whole matter.’ 


354 


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^ Villain ! ^ said Prince John, ^ thou wouldst not bewray our 
counsel ? ^ 

^ Counsel was never bewrayed by me,’ said De Bracy, 
haughtily, ^nor must the name of villain be coupled with 
mine ! ’ 

^ Peace, Sir Knight ! ’ said Waldemar ; ^ and you, good my 
lord, forgive the scruples of valiant De Bracy ; I trust I shall 
soon remove them.’ 

‘That passes your eloquence, Pitzurse,’ replied the 
knight. 

‘ Why, good Sir Maurice,’ rejoined the wily politician, ‘ start 
not aside like a scared steed, without, at least, considering the 
object of your terror. This Eichard — but a day since, and it 
would have been thy dearest wish to have met him hand to 
hand in the ranks of battle; a hundred times I have heard 
thee wish it.’ 

‘ Ay,’ said De Bracy, ‘ but that was, as thou sayest, hand to 
hand, and in the ranks of battle ! Thou never heardest me 
breathe a thought of assaulting him alone, and in a forest.’ 

‘ Thou art no good knight if thou dost scruple at it,’ said 
Waldemar. ‘ Was it in battle that Lancelot de Lac and Sir 
Tristram won renown ? or was it not by encountering gigantic 
knights under the shade of deep and unknown forests ? ’ 

‘ Ay, but I promise you,’ said De Bracy, ‘ that neither 
Tristram nor Lancelot would have been match, hand to hand, 
for Eichard Plantagenet, and I think it was not their wont to 
take odds against a single man.’ 

‘ Thou art mad, De Bracy : what is it we propose to thee, a 
hired and retained captain of Free Companions, whose swords 
are purchased for Prince John’s service? Thou art apprised 
of our enemy, and then thou scruplest, though thy patron’s 
fortunes, those of thy comrades, thine own, and the life and 
honour of every one amongst us, be at stake ! ’ 

‘ I tell you,’ said De Bracy, sullenly, ‘ that he gave me my 
life. True, he sent me from his presence, and refused my 
homage, so far I owe him neither favour nor allegiance; but 
I will not lift hand against him.’ 

‘ It needs not ; send Louis Winkelbrand and a score of thy 
lances.’ 

‘Ye have sufficient ruffians of your own,’ said De Bracy; 
‘ not one of mine shall budge on such an errand.’ 

‘ Art thou so obstinate, De Bracy? ’ said Prince John ; ‘ and 


IVANHOE 


355 


wilt thou forsake me, after so many protestations of zeal for 
my service ? ’ 

^ I mean it not,’ said De Bracy ; ^ I will abide by you in 
aught that becomes a knight, whether in the lists or in the 
camp; but this highway practice comes not within my vow.’ 

* Come hither, Waldemar,’ said Prince John. ^ An unhappy 
prince am I. My father. King Henry, had faithful servants. 
He had but to say that he was plagued with a factious priest, 
and the blood of Thomas-a-Becket, saint though he was, 
stained the steps of his own altar. Tracy, Morville, Brito,* 
loyal and daring subjects, your names, your spirit, are extinct ! 
and although Eeginald Fitzurse hath left a son, he hath fallen 
olf from his father’s fidelity and courage.’ 

^ He has fallen off from neither,’ said Waldemar Fitzurse ; 
' and since it may not better be, I will take on me the conduct 
of this perilous enterprise. Dearly, however, did my father 
purchase the praise of a zealous friend ; and yet did his proof 
of loyalty to Henry fall far short of what I am about to afford ; 
for rather would I assail a whole calendar of saints than put 
spear in rest against Coeur-de-Lion. De Bracy, to thee I must 
trust to keep up the spirits of the doubtful, and to guard 
Prince John’s person. If you receive such news as I trust to 
send you, our enterprise will no longer wear a doubtful aspect. 
Page,’ he said, ^ hie to my lodgings, and tell my armourer to 
be there in readiness; and bid Stephen Wether al. Broad 
Thoresby, and the Three Spears of Spyinghow come to me 
instantly ; and let the scout-master, Hugh Bardon, attend me 
also. Adieu, my Prince, till better times.’ Thus speaking, he 
left the apartment. 

^ He goes to make my brother prisoner,’ said Prince J ohn to 
De Bracy, ^with as little touch of compunction as if it but 
concerned the liberty of a Saxon franklin. I trust he will 
observe our orders, and use our dear Richard’s person with all 
due respect.’ 

De Bracy only answered by a smile. 

^By the light of Our Lady’s brow,’ said Prince John, 'our 
orders to him were most precise, though it may be you heard 
them not, as we stood together in the oriel window. Most 
clear and positive was our charge that Richard’s safety should 
be cared for, and woe to Waldemar’s head if he transgress it ! ’ 

' I had better pass to his lodgings,’ said De Bracy, ' and 
♦ See Slayers of Becket. Note 23. 


356 


IVANHOE 


make him fully aware of your Grace’s pleasure ; for, as it quite 
escaped my ear, it may not perchance have reached that of 
Waldemar/ 

^Nay, nay/ said Prince John, impatiently, promise thee 
he heard me ; and, besides, I have farther occupation for thee. 
Maurice, come hither; let me lean on thy shoulder.’ 

They walked a turn through the hall in this familiar 
posture, and Prince J ohn, with an air of the most confidential 
intimacy, proceeded to say, ‘ What thinkest thou of this Walde- 
mar Fitzurse, my De Bracy ? He trusts to be our Chancellor. 
Surely we will pause ere we give an office so high to one who 
shows evidently how little he reverences our blood, by his so 
readily undertaking this enterprise against Eichard. Thou 
dost think, I warrant, that thou hast lost somewhat of our 
regard by thy boldly declining this unpleasing task. But no, 
Maurice! I rather honour thee for thy virtuous constancy. 
There are things most necessary to be done, the perpetrator of 
which we neither love nor honour; and there may be refusals 
to serve us which shall rather exalt in our estimation those 
who deny our request. The arrest of my unfortunate brother 
forms no such good title to the high office of Chancellor as 
thy chivalrous and courageous denial establishes in thee to 
the truncheon of High Marshal. Think of this, De Bracy, 
and begone to thy charge.’ 

^ Fickle tyrant ! ’ muttered De Bracy, as he left the presence 
of the Prince; ^evil luck have they who trust thee. Thy 
Chancellor, indeed ! He who hath the keeping of thy con- 
science shall have an easy charge, I trow. But High Marshal 
of England ! that,’ he said, extending his arm, as if to grasp 
the baton of office, and assuming a loftier stride along the 
ante-chamber — ^ that is indeed a prize worth playing for ! ’ . 

De Bracy had no sooner left the apartment than Prince 
John summoned an attendant. 

^ Bid Hugh Bardon, our scout-master, come hither, as soon 
as he shall have spoken with Waldemar Fitzurse.’ 

The scout-master arrived after a brief delay, during which 
John traversed the apartment with unequal and disordered 
steps. 

^ Bardon,’ said he, ^ what did Waldemar desire of thee ? ’ 

^Two resolute men, well acquainted with these northern 
wilds, and skilful in tracking the tread of man and horse.’ 

^ And thou hast fitted him ? ’ 


IVANHOE 


357 


^Let your Grace never trust me else/ answered the master 
of the spies. ^ One is from Hexhamshire ; he is wont to trace 
the Tynedale and Teviotdale thieves, as a bloodhound follows 
the slot of a hurt deer. The other is Yorkshire bred, and has 
twanged his bowstring right oft in merry Sherwood ; he knows 
each glade and dingle, copse and high-wood, betwixt this and 
Eichmond.’ 

‘ ’Tis well/ said the Prince. ^ Goes Waldemar forth with 
them ? ’ 

^ Instantly/ said Bardon. 

^ With what attendance?^ asked John, carelessly. 

^ Broad Thoresby goes with him, and Wetheral, whom they 
call, for his cruelty, Stephen Steel-Heart ; and three northern 
men-at-arms that belonged to Ealph Middleton’s gang; they 
are called the Spears of Spyinghow.’ 

‘ ’Tis well/ said Prince John; then added, after a moment’s 
pause, ^ Bardon, it imports our service that thou keep a strict 
watch on Maurice de Bracy, so that he shall not observe it, 
however. And let us know of his motions from time to time, 
with whom he converses, what he proposeth. Fail not in this, 
as thou wilt be answerable.’ 

Hugh Bardon bowed, and retired. 

^ If Maurice betrays me/ said Prince J ohn — ^ if he betrays 
me, as his bearing leads me to fear, I will have his head, were 
Eichard thundering at the gates of York.’ 

COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

The romance now turns to political history, preparing the way for the 
defeat of Prince John. This defeat is indicated by the loss of followers 
and of a financial resource on which he had hoped to draw. 

When did John last appear 7 
What is he striving for 7 

Who brings to him the news of the fall of Torquilstone 7 
What are his chief characteristics as depicted here 7 
When has De Bracy met King Richard 7 
On what perilous enterprise does Waldemar set out 7 


CHAPTEE XXXV 


Arouse the tiger of Hyrcanian desertSj 
Strive with the half-starved lion for his prey ; 

Lesser the risk, than rouse the slumbering fire 
Of wild fanaticism. 

Anonymous. 

Our tale now returns to Isaac of York. Mounted upon a 
mule, the gift of the outlaw, with two tall yeomen to act as his 
guard and guides, the Jew had set out for the preceptory of 
Templestowe, for the purpose of negotiating his daughter's 
redemption. The preceptory was but a day’s journey from the 
demolished castle of Torquilstone, and the Jew had hoped to 
reach it before nightfall; accordingly, having dismissed his 
guides at the verge of the forest, and rewarded them with a 
piece of silver, he began to press on with such speed as his 
weariness permitted him to exert. But his strength failed him 
totally ere he had reached within four miles of the Temple 
court; racking pains shot along his back and through his 
limbs, and the excessive anguish which he felt at heart being 
now augmented by bodily suffering, he was rendered alto- 
gether incapable of proceeding farther than a small market- 
town, where dwelt a Jewish rabbi of his tribe, eminent in the 
medical profession, and to whom Isaac was well known. 
Xathan ben Israel received his suffering countryman with 
that kindness which the law prescribed, and which the Jews 
practised to each other. He insisted on his betaking himself 
to repose, and used such remedies as were then in most repute 
to check the progress of the fever which terror, fatigue, ill- 
usage, and sorrow had brought upon the poor old J ew. 

On the morrow, when Isaac proposed to arise and pursue 
his journey, Xathan remonstrated against his purpose, both as 
his host and as his physician. ^ It might cost him,’ he said, 
^ his life.’ But Isaac replied, ^ That more than life and death 
depended upon his going that morning to Templestowe.’ 

^ To Templestowe ! ’ said his host with surprise ; again felt 
his pulse, and then muttered to himself, ^ His fever is abated, 
yet seems his mind somewhat alienated and disturbed.’ 

358 


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359 


^ And why not to Templestowe ? ^ answered his patient. ^ I 
grant thee, Nathan, that it is a dwelling of those to whom the 
despised Children of the Promise are a stumbling-block and 
an abomination; yet thou knowest that pressing affairs of 
traffic sometimes carry us among these bloodthirsty Nazarene 
soldiers, and that we visit the preceptories * of the Templars, 
as well as the commanderies of the Knights Hospitallers, as 
they are called.^ 

‘I know it well,’ said Nathan; ^but wettest thou that 
Lucas de Beaumanoir, the chief of their order, and whom they 
term Grand Master, is now himself at Templestowe ? ’ 

^ I know it not,’ said Isaac ; ^ our last letters from our 
brethren at Paris avised us that he was at that city, beseech- 
ing Philip for aid against the Sultan Saladine.’ 

^ He hath since come to England, unexpected by his 
brethren,’ said Ben Israel ; ^ and he cometh among them with a 
strong and outstretched arm to correct and to punish. His 
countenance is kindled in anger against those who have de- 
parted from the vow which they have made, and great is the 
fear of those sons of Belial. Thou must have heard of his 
name ? ’ 

‘ It is well known unto me,’ said Isaac : ^ the Gentiles deliver 
this Lucas Beaumanoir as a man zealous to slaying for every 
point of the Nazarene law; and our brethren have termed him 
a fierce destroyer of the Saracens, and a cruel tyrant to the 
Children of the Promise.’ 

^ And truly have they termed him,’ said Nathan the physi- 
cian. ^ Other Templars may be moved from the purpose of 
their heart by pleasure, or bribed by promise of gold and 
silver; but Beaumanoir is of a different stamp — hating sen- 
suality, despising treasure, and pressing forward to that which 
they call the crown of martyrdom — the God of J acob speedily 
send it unto him, and unto them all! Specially hath this 
proud man extended his glove over the children of Judah, as 
holy David over Edom, holding the murder of a Jew to be 
an offering of as sweet savour as the death of a Saracen. 
Impious and false things has he said even of the virtues of our 
medicines, as if they were the devices of Satan — the Lord 
rebuke him I ’ 

^ Nevertheless,’ said Isaac, ^ I must present myself at Tem- 


* See Note 24. 


360 


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plestowe, though he hath made his face like unto a fiery fur- 
nace seven times heated/ 

He then explained to Nathan the pressing cause of his 
journey. The Kabbi listened with interest, and testified his 
sympathy after the fashion of his people, rending his clothes, 
and saying, ‘ Ah, my daughter ! — ah, my daughter ! Alas ! for 
the beauty of Zion ! Alas ! for the captivity of Israel ! ^ 

^ Thou seest,’ said Isaac, ^ how it stands with me, and that 
I may not tarry. Peradventure, the presence of this Lucas 
Beaumanoir, being the chief man over them, may turn Brian 
de Bois-Guilbert from the ill which he doth meditate, and that 
he may deliver to me my beloved daughter Eebecca.^ 

' Go thou,^ said Nathan ben Israel, ^ and be wise, for wisdom 
availed Daniel in the den of lions into which he was cast ; and 
may it go well with thee, even as thine heart wisheth. Yet, if 
thou canst, keep thee from the presence of the Grand Master, 
for to do foul scorn to our people is his morning and evening 
delight. It may be, if thou couldst speak with Bois-Guilbert 
in private, thou shalt the better prevail with him; for men 
say that these accursed Nazarenes are not of one mind in the 
preceptory — may their counsels be confounded and brought 
to shame ! But do thou, brother, return to me as if it were to 
the house of thy father, and bring me word how it has sped 
with thee; and well do I hope thou wilt bring with thee 
Kebecea, even the scholar of the wise Miriam, whose cures the 
Gentiles slandered as if they had been wrought by necro- 
mancy.’ 

Isaac accordingly bade his friend farewell, and about an 
hour’s riding brought him before the preceptory of Temple- 
stowe. 

This establishment of the Templars was seated amidst fair 
meadows and pastures, which the devotion of the former pre- 
ceptor had bestowed upon their order. It was strong and well 
fortified, a point never neglected by these knights, and which 
the disordered state of England rendered peculiarly neces- 
sary. Two halberdiers, clad in black, guarded the draw- 
bridge, and others, in the same sad livery, glided to and fro 
upon the walls with a funereal pace, resembling spectres more 
than soldiers. The inferior officers of the order were thus 
dressed, ever since their use of white garments, similar to those 
of the knights and esquires, had given rise to a combination of 
certain false brethren in the mountains of Palestine, terming 


IVANHOE 


361 


themselves Templars, and bringing great dishonour on the 
order. A knight was now and then seen to cross the court in 
his long white cloak, his head depressed on his breast, and his 
arms folded. They passed each other, if they chanced to meet, 
with a slow, solemn, and mute greeting ; for such was the rule 
of their order, quoting thereupon the holy texts, ‘ In many 
words thou shalt not avoid sin,^ and ^ Life and death are in the 
power of the tongue.’ In a word, the stern, ascetic rigour of 
the Temple discipline, which had been so long exchanged for 
prodigal and licentious indulgence, seemed at once to have 
revived at Templestowe under the severe eye of Lucas Beau- 
manoir. 

Isaac paused at the gate, to consider how he might seek 
entrance in the manner most likely to bespeak favour; for he 
was well aware that to his unhappy race the reviving fanati- 
cism of the order was not less dangerous than their unprin- 
cipled licentiousness ; and that his religion would be the object 
of hate and persecution in the one case, as his wealth would 
have exposed him in the other to the extortions of unrelenting 
oppression. 

Meantime, Lucas Beaumanoir walked in a small garden be- 
longing to the preceptory, included within the precincts of its 
exterior fortification, and held sad and confidential communi-' 
cation with a brother of his order, who had come in his com- 
pany from Palestine. 

The Grand Master was a man advanced in age, as was 
testified by his long grey beard, and the shaggy grey eyebrows, 
overhanging eyes of which, however, years had been unable to 
quench the fire. A formidable warrior, his thin and severe 
features retained the soldier’s fierceness of expression; an 
ascetic bigot, they were no less marked by the emaciation of 
abstinence, and the spiritual pride of the self-satisfied devotee. 
Yet with these severer traits of physiognomy, there was mixed 
somewhat striking and noble, arising, doubtless, from the 
great part which his high office called upon him to act among 
monarchs and princes, and from the habitual exercise of 
supreme authority over the valiant and high-born knights who 
were united by the rules of the order. His stature was tall, 
and his gait, undepressed by age and toil, was erect and stately. 
His white mantle was shaped with severe regularity, according 
to the rule of St, Bernard himself, being composed of what 


362 


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was then called burrel cloth, exactly fitted to the size of the 
wearer, and bearing on the left shoulder the octangular cross 
peculiar to the order, formed of red cloth. No vair or ermine 
decked this garment; but in respect of his age, the Grand 
Master, as permitted by the rules, wore his doublet lined and 
trimmed with the softest lambskin, dressed with the wool out- 
wards, which was the nearest approach he could regularly 
make to the use of fur, then the greatest luxury of dress. In 
his hand he bore that singular abacus, or staff of office, with 
which Templars are usually represented, having at the upper 
end a round plate, on which was engraved the cross of the 
order, inscribed within a circle or orle, as heralds term it. 
His companion, who attended on this great personage, had 
nearly the same dress in all respects, but his extreme deference 
towards his superior showed that no other equality subsisted 
between them. The preceptor, for such he was in rank, 
walked not in a line with the Grand Master, but just so far 
behind that Beaumanoir could speak to him without turning 
round his head. 

^ Conrade,^ said the Grand Master, ^ dear companion of my 
battles and my toils, to thy faithful bosom alone 1 can confide 
my sorrows. To thee alone can I tell how oft, since I came to 
this kingdom, I have desired to be dissolved and to be with 
the just. Not one object in England hath met mine eye which 
it could rest upon with pleasure, save the tombs of our 
brethren, beneath the massive roof of our Temple Church in 
yonder proud capital. 0, valiant Eobert de Eos ! ” did I 
exclaim internally, as I gazed upon these good soldiers of the 
cross, where they lie sculptured on their sepulchres — 0, 
worthy William de Mareschal! open your marble cells, and 
take to your repose a weary brother, who would rather strive 
with a hundred thousand pagans than witness the decav of our 
holy order ! ’ 

" It is but true,’ answered Conrade Mont-Fitchet — " it is but 
too true ; and the irregularities of our brethren in England are 
even more gross than those in France.^ 

' Because they are more wealthy," answered the Grand Mas- 
ter. "Bear with me, brother, although I should something 
vaunt myself. Thou knowest the life I have led, keeping each 
point of my order, striving with devils embodied and disem- 
bodied, striking down the roaring lion, who goeth about seek- 
ing whom he may devour, like a good knight and devout priest 


IVANHOE 


363 


wheresoever I met with him, even as blessed St. Bernard hath 
prescribed to ns in the forty-fifth capital of our rule, Ut leo 
semper feriatur* But, by the Holy Temple ! the zeal which 
hath devoured my substance and my life, yea, the very nerves 
and marrow of my bones — by that very Holy Temple I swear 
to thee, that save thyself and some few that still retain the 
ancient severity of our order, I look upon no brethren whom I 
can bring my soul to embrace under that holy name. What 
say our statutes, and how do our brethren observe them? 
They should wear no vain or worldly ornament, no crest upon 
their helmet, no gold upon stirrup or bridle-bit ; yet who now 
go pranked out so proudly and so gaily as the poor soldiers of 
the Temple? They are forbidden by our statutes to take one 
bird by means of another, to shoot beasts with bow or arblast, 
to halloo to a hunting-horn, or to spur the horse after game; 
but now, at hunting and hawking, and each idle sport of wood 
and river, who so prompt as the Templars in all these fond 
vanities ? They are forbidden to read, save what their superior 
permitted, or listen to what is read, save such holy things as 
may be recited aloud during the hours of refection ; but lo ! 
their ears are at the command of idle minstrels, and their eyes 
study empty romaunts. They were commanded to extirpate 
magic and heresy ; lo ! they are charged with studying the 
accursed cabalistical secrets of the Jews, and the magic of the 
paynim Saracens. Simpleness of diet was prescribed to them 
— roots, 4 )ott age, gruels, eating flesh but thrice-a-week, because 
the accustomed feeding on flesh is a dishonourable corruption 
of the body; and behold, their tables groan under delicate 
fare. Their drink was to be water; and now, to drink like a 
Templar is the boast of each jolly boon companion. This very 
garden, filled as it is with curious herbs and trees sent from 
the Eastern climes, better becomes the harem of an unbeliev- 
ing emir than the plot which Christian monks should devote 
to raise their homely pot-herbs. And 0, Conrade! well it 
were that the relaxation of discipline stopped even here ! Well 
thou knowest that we were forbidden to receive those devout 
women who at the beginning were associated as sisters of our 
order, because, saith the forty-sixth chapter, the Ancient 
Enemy hath, by female society, withdrawn many from the 
right path to paradise. Hay, in the last capital, being, as it 
were, the copestone which our blessed founder placed op the 
♦See Note 25. 


364 


IVANHOE 


pure and -undefiled doctrine which he had enjoined, we are 
prohibited from offering, even to our sisters and our mothers, 
the kiss of affection : ut omnium mulierum fugiantur oscula. 
I shame to speak — I shame to think — of the corruptions which 
have rushed in upon us even like a flood. The souls of our 
pure founders, the spirits of Hugh de Payen and Godfrey de 
St. Omer, and of the blessed seven who first joined in dedi- 
cating their lives to the service of the Temple, are disturbed 
even in the enjoyment of paradise itself. I have seen them, 
Conrade, in the visions of the night : their sainted eyes shed 
tears for the sins and follies of their brethren, and for the 
foul and shameful luxury in which they wallow. ^^Beau- 
manoir,” they say, ^^thou slumberest; awake! There is a 
stain in the fabric of the Temple, deep and foul as that left 
by the streaks of leprosy on the walls of the infected houses of 
old.* The soldiers of the Cross, who should shun the glance 
of a woman as the eye of a basilisk, live in open sin, not with 
the females of their own race only, but with the daughters of 
the accursed heathen, and more accursed Jew. Beaumanoir, 
thou sleepest; up, and avenge our cause! Slay the sinners, 
male and female ! Take to thee the brand of Phineas ! The 
vision fied, Conrade, but as I awaked I could still hear the 
clank of their mail, and see the waving of their white mantles. 
And I will do according to their word: I "will purify the 
fabric of the Temple; and the unclean stones in which the 
plague is, I will remove and cast out of the building.’ 

^ Yet bethink thee, reverend father,’ said Mont-Pitchet, ^ the 
stain hath become engrained by time and consuetude ; let thy 
reformation be cautious, as it is just and wise.’ 

‘ No, Mont-Fitchet,’ answered the stern old man, ^ it must 
be sharp and sudden; the order is on the crisis of its fate. 
The sobriety, self-devotion, and piety of our predecessors made 
us powerful friends ; our presumption, our wealth, our luxury 
have raised up against us mighty enemies. We must cast 
away these riches, which are a temptation to princes ; we must 
lay down that presumption, which is an offence to them; we 
must reform that license of manners, which is a scandal to the 
whole Christian world! Or — mark my words — ^the order of 
the Temple will be utterly demolished, and the place thereof 
shall no more be known among the nations.’ 

^ Now may God avert such a calamity ! ’ said the preceptor. 

* See the 13th chapter of Leviticus. 


IVANHOE 


; 365 

^Amen/ said the Grand Master, with solemnity, ^but we 
mnst deserve His aid. I tell thee, Conrade, that neither the 
powers in Heaven, nor the powers on earth, will longer endure 
the wickedness of this generation. My intelligence is sure — 
the ground on which our fabric is reared is already under- 
mined, and each addition we make to the structure of our 
greatness will only sink it the sooner in the abyss. We must 
retrace our steps, and show ourselves the faithful champions 
of the Cross, sacrificing to our calling not alone our blood and 
our lives, not alone our lusts and our vices, but our ease, our 
comforts, and our natural affections, and act as men convinced 
that many a pleasure which may be lawful to others is for- 
bidden to the vowed soldier of the Temple.^ 

At this moment a squire, clothed in a threadbare vestment 
— for the aspirants after this holy order wore during their 
noviciate the cast-off garments of the knights — entered the 
garden, and, bowing profoundly before the Grand Master, 
stood silent, awaiting his permission ere he presumed to tell 
his errand. 

^ Is it not more seemly,’ said the Grand Master, ' to see this 
Damian, clothed in the garments of Christian humility, thus 
appear with reverent silence before his superior, than but two 
days since, when the fond fool was decked in a painted coat, 
and jangling as pert and as proud as any popinjay? Speak, 
Damian, we permit thee. What is thine errand ? ’ 

^ A Jew stands without the gate, noble and reverend father,’ 
said the squire, ^ who prays to speak with brother Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert.’ 

^Thou wert right to give me knowledge of it,’ said the 
Grand Master ; ^ in our presence a preceptor is but as a com- 
mon compeer of our order, who may not walk according to his 
own will, but to that of his Master, even according to the text. 
In the hearing of the ear he hath obeyed me.” It imports us 
especially to know of this Bois-Guilbert’s proceedings,’ said 
he, turning to his companion. 

‘^Eeport speaks him brave and valiant,’ said Conrade. 

^ And truly is he so spoken of,’ said the Grand Master ; ^ in 
our valour only we are not degenerated from our predecessors, 
the heroes of the Cross. But brother Brian came into our 
order a moody and disappointed man, stirred, I doubt me, to 
take our vows and to renounce the world, not in sincerity of 
soul, but as one whom some touch of light discontent had 


366 


IVANHOE 


driven into penitence. Since then he hath become an active 
and earnest agitator, a murmurer, and a machinator, and a 
leader amongst those who impugn our authority ; not consider- 
ing that the rule is given to the Master even by the symbol of 
the staff and the rod — the staff to support the infirmities of the 
weak, the rod to correct the faults of delinquents. Damian,^ 
he continued, ‘ lead the Jew to our presence.^ 

The squire departed with a profound reverence, and in a 
few minutes returned, marshalling in Isaac of York. No 
naked slave, ushered into the presence of some mighty prince, 
could approach his judgment-seat with more profound rever- 
ence and terror than that with which the J ew drew near to the 
presence of the Grand Master. When he had approached 
within the distance of three yards, Beaumanoir made a sign 
with his staff that he should come no farther. The Jew 
kneeled down on the earth, which he kissed in token of rever- 
ence ; then rising, stood before the Templars, his hands folded 
on his bosom, his head bowed on his breast, in all the submis- 
sion of Oriental slavery. 

^ Damian,^ said the Grand Master, ^ retire, and have a guard 
ready to await our sudden call ; and suffer no one to enter the 
garden until we shall leave it.^ The squire bowed and re- 
treated. ^ Jew,’ continued the haughty old man, ^ mark me. 
It suits not our condition to hold with thee long communica- 
tion, nor do we waste words or time upon any one. Wherefore 
be brief in thy answers to what questions I shall ask thee, and 
let thy words be of truth ; for if thy tongue doubles with me, 
I will have it torn from thy misbelieving jaws.’ 

The Jew was about to reply; but the Grand Master went 
on — 

^ Peace, unbeliever! not a word in our presence, save in 
answer to our questions. What is thy business with our 
brother Brian de Bois-Guilbert ? ’ 

Isaac gasped with terror and uncertainty. To tell his tale 
might be interpreted into scandalising the order; yet, unless 
he told it, what hope could he have of achieving his daughter’s 
deliverance? Beaumanoir saw his mortal apprehension, and 
condescended to give him some assurance. 

^ Fear nothing,’ he said, ^ for thy wretched person, Jew, so 
thou dealest uprightly in this matter. I demand again to 
know from thee thy business with Brian de Bois-Guilbert ? ’ 

I am bearer of a letter,’ stammered out the Jew, ^ so please 


IVANHOE 


367 


your reverend valour, to that good knight, from Prior Aymer 
of the Abbey of Jorvaulx/ 

^ Said I not these were evil times, Conrade ? ’ said the Mas- 
ter. ^ A Cistercian prior sends a letter to a soldier of the 
Temple, and can find no more fitting messenger than an un- 
believing Jew. Give me the letter.’ 

The Jew, with trembling hands, undid the folds of his 
Armenian cap, in which he had deposited the Prior’s tablets 
for the greater security, and was about to approach, with hand 
extended and body crouched, to place it within the reach of his 
grim interrogator. 

^ Back, dog ! ’ said the Grand Master ; ‘ I touch not mis- 
believers, save with the sword. Conrade, take thou the letter 
from the Jew and give it to me.’ 

Beaumanoir, being thus possessed of the tablets, inspected 
the outside carefully, and then proceeded to undo the pack- 
thread which secured its folds. ‘ Eeverend father,’ said Con- 
rade, interposing, though with much deference, ^wilt thou 
break the seal ? ’ 

^ And will I not ? ’ said Beaumanoir, with a frown. ^ Is it 
not written in the forty-second capital, De Lectione Litera- 
rum, that a Templar shall not receive a letter, no not from his 
father, without communicating the same to the Grand Master, 
and reading it in his presence ? ’ 

He then perused the letter in haste, with an expression of 
surprise and horror; read it over again more slowly; then 
holding it out to Conrade with one hand, and slightly striking 
it with the other, exclaimed — ^ Here is goodly stuff for one 
Christian man to write to another, and both members, and no 
inconsiderable members, of religious professions ! When,’ 
said he solemnly, and looking upward, ^ wilt Thou come with 
Thy fanners to purge the thrashing-floor ? ’ 

Mont-Fitchet took the letter from his superior, and was 
about to peruse it. ^ Bead it aloud, Conrade,’ said the Grand 
Master; ‘and do thou (to Isaac) attend to the purport of it, 
for we will question thee concerning it.’ 

Conrade read the letter, which was in these words : ‘ Aymer, 
by divine grace, prior of the Cistercian house of St. Mary’s of 
Jorvaulx, to Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, a knight of the holy 
order of the Temple, wisheth health, with the bounties of King 
Bacchus and of my Lady Venus. Touching our present con- 
dition, dear brother, we are a captive in the hands of certain 


368 


IVANHOE 


lawless and godless men, who have not feared to detain our 
person, and pnt us to ransom ; whereby we have also learned of 
Front-de-Boeuf’s misfortune, and that thou hast escaped with 
that fair Jewish sorceress whose black eyes have bewitched 
thee. We are heartily rejoiced of thy safety ; nevertheless, we 
pray thee to be on thy guard in the matter of this second 
Witch of Endor ; for we are privately assured that your Great 
Master, who careth not a bean for cherry cheeks and black 
eyes, comes from Normandy to diminish your mirth and 
amend your misdoings. Wherefore we pray you heartily to 
beware, and to he found watching, even as the Holy Text 
hath it, Invenientur vigilantes. And the wealthy Jew her 
father, Isaac of York, having prayed of me letters in his be- 
half, I gave him these, earnestly advising, and in a sort 
entreating, that you do hold the damsel to ransom, seeing he 
will pay you from his bags as much as may find fifty damsels 
upon safer terms, whereof I trust to have my part when we 
make merry together, as true brothers, not forgetting the wine- 
cup. For what saith the text, Yinum Icetificat cor hominis; 
and again, Bex delectabitur pulchritudine tua. 

‘ Till which merry meeting, we wish you farewell. Given 
from this den of thieves, about the hour of matins, 

Aymer Pr. S. M. Jorvolcien-cis. 

^ Postscriptum. — Truly your golden chain hath not long 
abidden with me, and will now sustain, around the neck of an 
outlaw deer-stealer, the whistle wherewith he calleth on his 
hounds.’ 

^ What sayest thou to this, Conrade ? ’ said the Grand Mas- 
ter. ^ Den of thieves ! and a fit residence is a den of thieves 
for such a prior. No wonder that the hand of God is upon us, 
and that in the Holy Land we lose place by place, foot by foot, 
before the infidels, when we have such churchmen as this 
Aymer. And what meaneth he, I trow, by “ this second Witch 
of Endor ” ? ’ said he to his confidant, something apart. 

. Conrade was better acquainted, perhaps by practice, with 
the jargon of gallantry than was his superior; and he ex- 
pounded the passage which embarrassed the Grand Master to 
be a sort of language used by worldly men towards those whom 
they loved par amours; hut the explanation did not satisfy 
the bigoted Beaumanoir. 


IVANHOE 


369 


^ There is more in it than thou dost guess, Conrade; thy 
simplicity is no match for this deep abyss of wickedness. This 
Eebecca of York was a pupil of that Miriam of whom thou 
hast heard. Thou shalt hear the Jew own it even now.’ Then 
turning to Isaac, he said aloud, ^ Thy daughter, then, is pris- 
oner with Brian de Bois-Guilbert ? ’ 

‘ Ay, reverend valorous sir,’ stammered poor Isaac, ^ and 
whatsoever ransom a poor man may pay for her deliver- 
ance ’ 

^ Peace ! ’ said the Grand Master. ^ This thy daughter hath 
practised the art of healing, hath she not ? ’ 

^ Ay, gracious sir,’ answered the J ew, with more confidence ; 
^ and knight and yeoman, squire and vassal, may bless the 
goodly gift which Heaven hath assigned to her. Many a one 
can testify that she hath recovered them by her art, when 
every other human aid hath proved vain; but the blessing of 
the God of Jacob was upon her.’ 

Beaumanoir turned to Mont-Fitchet with a grim smile. 
‘ See, brother,’ he said, ‘ the deceptions of the devouring 
Enemy! Behold the baits with which he fishes for souls, 
giving a poor space of earthly life in exchange for eternal 
happiness hereafter. Well said our blessed rule, Semper per- 
cutiatur leo vorans. Upon the lion! Down with the de- 
stroyer ! ’ said he, shaking aloft his mystic abacus, as if in 
defiance of the powers of darkness. ^ Thy daughter w'orketh 
the cures, I doubt not,’ thus he went on to address the Jew, 
^by words and sigils, and periapts, and other cabalistical 
mysteries.’ 

^Nay, reverend and brave knight,’ answered Isaac, ^but in 
chief measure by a balsam of marvellous virtue.’ 

^ Where had she that secret ? ’ said Beaumanoir. 

^It was delivered to her,’ answered Isaac, reluctantly, ^by 
Miriam, a sage matron of our tribe.’ 

^ Ah, false Jew ! ’ said the Grand Master; ^ was it not from 
that same witch Miriam, the abomination of whose enchant- 
ments have been heard of throughout every Christian land ? ’ 
exclaimed the Grand Master, crossing himself. ^Her body 
was burnt at a stake, and her ashes were scattered to the four 
winds; and so be it with me and mine order, if I do not as 
much to her pupil, and more also ! I will teach her to throw 
spell and incantation over the soldiers of the blessed Temple ! 
There, Damian, spurn this J ew from the gate ; shoot him dead 


370 


IVANHOE 


if he oppose or turn again. With his daughter we will deal 
as the Christian law and our own high office warrant.^ 

Poor Isaac was hurried off accordingly, and expelled from 
the preceptory, all his entreaties, and even his offers, unheard 
and disregarded. He could do no better than return to the 
house of the Eabbi, and endeavour, through his means, to 
learn how his daughter was to be disposed of. He had hitherto 
feared for her honour; he was now to tremble for her life. 
Meanwhile the Grand Master ordered to his presence the pre- 
ceptor of Templestowe. 

COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

With this chapter the scene changes to the Preceptory of Temple- 
stowe, and new characters are introduced. 

What information is given about the order of the Templars ? 

What method does Scott employ in drawing the portrait of the Grand 
Master ? 

Contrast the Grand Master with Prior Aymeras revealed by the letter 
to Bois-Guilbert. Are they two extreme types of the professional 
clergy ? 

Describe the scene in the Temple garden. 

What dramatic purpose in representing the Grand Master out of 
patience with the decadence of his order in Bngland ? 

Trace the steps whereby the Grand Master comes to the conclusion 
that Rebecca is a sorceress. 


CHAPTER XXXVI 


Say not my art is fraud : all live by seeming. 

The beggar begs with it, and the gay courtier 
Gains land and title, rank and rule, by seeming ; 

The clergy scorn it not ; and the bold soldier 
Will eke with it his service. All admit it, 

All practise it ; and he who is content 

With showing what he is shall have small credit 

In church, or camp, or state. So wags the world. 

Old Play, 

Albert Malvoisin, president, or, in the language of the 
order, preceptor of the establishment of Templestowe, was 
brother to that Philip Malvoisin who has been already occa- 
sionally mentioned in this history, and was, like that baron, in 
close league with Brian de Bois-Guilbert. 

Amongst dissolute and unprincipled men, of whom the 
Temple order included but too many, Albert of Templestowe 
might be distinguished; but with this difference from the 
audacious Bois-Guilbert, that, he knew how to throw over his 
vices and his ambition the veil of hypocrisy, and to assume in 
his exterior the fanaticism which he internally despised. Had 
not the arrival of the Grand Master been so unexpectedly 
sudden, he would have seen nothing at Templestowe which 
might have appeared to argue any relaxation of discipline. 
And, even although surprised, and to a certain extent de- 
tected, Albert Malvoisin listened with such respect and ap- 
parent contrition to the rebuke of his superior, and made such 
haste to reform the particulars he censured — succeeded, in 
fine, so well in giving an air of ascetic devotion to a family 
which had been lately devoted to license and pleasure, that 
Lucas Beaumanoir began to entertain a higher opinion of the 
preceptor’s morals than the first appearance of the establish- 
ment had inclined him to adopt. 

But these favourable sentiments on the part of the Grand 
Master were greatly . shaken by the intelligence that Albert 
had received within a house of religion the Jewish captive, 
and, as was to be feared, the paramour of a brother of the 

371 


372 


IVANHOE 


order ; and when Albert appeared before him he was regarded 
with unwonted sternness. 

^ There is in this mansion, dedicated to the purposes of the 
holy order of the Temple/ said the Grand Master, in a severe 
tone, ^a Jewish woman, brought hither by a brother of re- 
ligion, by your connivance. Sir Preceptor.’ 

Albert Malvoisin was overwhelmed with confusion; for the 
unfortunate Kebecca had been confined in a remote and secret 
part of the building, and every precaution used to prevent her 
residence there from being known. He read in the looks of 
Beaumanoir ruin to Bois-Guilbert and to himself, unless he 
should be able to avert the impending storm. 

^ Why are 5^ou mute ? ’ continued the Grand Master. 

^ Is it permitted to me to reply ? ’ answered the preceptor, 
in a tone of the deepest humility, although by the question 
he only meant to gain an instant’s space for arranging his 
ideas. 

^ Speak, you are permitted/ said the Grand Master — ^ speak, 
and say, knowest thou the capital of our holy rule — De com- 
militonibus Templi in sancta civitate, qui cum miserrimis 
mulierihus versantur^ propter ohlectationem carnis?^ * 

^ Surely, most reverend father,’ answered the preceptor, ‘ I 
have not risen to this office in the order, being ignorant of one 
of its most important prohibitions.’ 

^ How comes it, then, I demand of thee once more, that thou 
hast suffered a brother to bring a paramour, and that para- 
mour a Jewish sorceress, into this holy place, to the stain and 
pollution thereof ? ’ 

^ A Jewish sorceress ! ’ echoed Albert Malvoisin, ^ good 
angels guard us ! ’ 

^Ay, brother, a Jewish sorceress/ said the Grand Master, 
sternly. ‘ I have said it. Barest thou deny that this Eebecca, 
the daughter of that wretched usurer Isaac of York, and the 
pupil of the foul witch Miriam, is now — shame to be thought 
or spoken ! — lodged within this thy preceptory ? ’ 

'Your wisdom, reverend father/ answered the preceptor, 
'hath rolled away the darkness from my understanding. 
Much did I wonder that so good a knight as Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert seemed so fondly besotted on the charms of this 
female, whom I received into this house merely to place a bar 

* The edict which he quotes is against communication with women of 
light character. 


IVANHOE 


373 


betwixt their growing intimacy, which else might have been 
cemented at the expense of the fall of our valiant and religious 
brother/ 

^ Hath nothing, then, as yet passed betwixt them in breach 
of his vow ? ’ demanded the Grand Master. 

^ What ! under this roof ? ’ said the preceptor, crossing him- 
self ; ‘ St. Magdalene and the ten thousand virgins forbid ! 
No! if I have sinned in receiving her here, it was in the 
erring thought that I might thus break off our brother’s be- 
sotted devotion to this J ewess, which seemed to me so wild and 
unnatural, that I could not but ascribe it to some touch of 
insanity, more to be cured by pity than reproof. But, since 
your reverend wisdom hath discovered this Jewish quean to be 
a sorceress, perchance it may account fully for his enamoured 
folly.’ 

^ It doth ! — it doth ! ’ said Beaumanoir. ^ See, brother Con- 
rade, the peril of yielding to the first devices and blandish- 
ments of Satan! We look upon woman only to gratify the 
lust of the eye, and to take pleasure in what men call her 
beauty; and the Ancient Enemy, the devouring lion, obtains 
power over us, to complete, by talisman and spell, a work 
which was begun by idleness and folly. It may be that our 
brother Bois-Guilbert does in this matter deserve rather pity 
than severe chastisement, rather the support of the staff than 
the strokes of the rod ; and that our admonitions and prayers 
may turn him from his folly, and restore him to his brethren.’ 

^ It were deep pity,’ said Conrade Mont-Fitchet, ^ to lose to 
the order one of its best lances, when the holy community 
most requires the aid of its sons. Three hundred Saracens 
hath this Brian de Bois-Guilbert slain with his own hand.’ 

^ The blood of these accursed dogs,’ said the Grand Master, 
^ shall be a sweet and acceptable offering to the saints and 
angels whom they despise and blaspheme ; and with their aid 
will we counteract the spells and charms with which our 
brother is entwined as in a net. He shall burst the bands of 
this Dalilah as Samson burst the two new cords with which 
the Philistines had bound him, and shall slaughter the infidels, 
even heaps upon heaps. But concerning this foul witch, who 
hath flung her enchantments over a brother of the Holy Tem- 
ple, assuredly she shall die the death.’ 

^But the laws of England ’ said the preceptor, who, 

though delighted that the Grand Master’s resentment, thus 


374 


IVANHOE 


fortunately averted from himself and 3ois-Guilbert, had taken 
another direction, began now to fear he was carrying it too 
far. 

^ The laws of England/ interrupted Beaumanoir, ^ permit 
and enjoin each judge to execute justice within his own juris- 
diction. The most petty baron may arrest, try, and condemn 
a witch found within his own domain. And shall that power 
be denied to the Grand Master of the Temple within a pre- 
ceptory of his order ? No ! we will judge and condemn. The 
witch shall be taken out of the land, and the wickedness 
thereof shall be forgiven. Prepare the castle hall for the trial 
of the sorceress.^ 

Albert Malvoisin bowed and retired, not to give directions 
for preparing the hall, but to seek out Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
and communicate to him how matters were likely to terminate. 
It was not long ere he found him, foaming with indignation 
at a repulse he had anew sustained from the fair Jewess. 
^ The unthinking/ he said — ^ the ungrateful, to scorn him who, 
amidst blood and flames, would have saved her life at the risk 
of his own! By Heaven, Malvoisin! I abode until roof and 
rafters crackled and crashed around me. I was the butt of a 
hundred arrows ; they rattled on mine armour like hailstones 
against a latticed casement, and the only use I made of my 
shield was for her protection. This did I endure for her ; and 
now the self-willed girl upbraids me that I did not leave her to 
perish, and refuses me not only the slightest proof of grati- 
tude, but even the most distant hope that ever she will be 
brought to grant any. The devil, that possessed her race with 
obstinacy, has concentrated its full force in her single per- 
son ! ’ 

‘ The devil/ said the preceptor, ^ I think, possessed you both. 
How oft have I preached to you caution, if not continence? 
Did I not tell you that there were enough willing Christian 
damsels to be met with, who would think it sin to refuse so 
brave a knight le don d'amoureux merci, and you must needs 
anchor your affection on a wilful, obstinate Jewess ! By the 
mass, I think old Lucas Beaumanoir guesses right, when he 
maintains she hath cast a spell over you.’ 

^ Lucas Beaumanoir ! ’ said Bois-Guilbert, reproachfully. 
^ Are these your precautions, Malvoisin ? Hast thou suffered 
the dotard to learn that Eebecca is in the preceptory ? ’ 

^How could I help it?’ said the preceptor. neglected 


IVAISTHOE 


375 


nothing that could keep secret your mystery; but it is be- 
trayed, and whether by the devil or no, the devil only can tell. 
But I have turned the matter as I could ; you are safe if you 
renounce Eebecca. You are pitied — ^the victim of magical 
delusion. She is a sorceress, and must suffer as such.’ 

^ She shall not, by Heaven ! ’ said Bois-Guilbert. 

^ By Heaven, she must and will ! ’ said Malvoisin. ^ Neither 
you nor any one else can save her. Lucas Beaumanoir hath 
settled that the death of a Jewess will be a sin-offering suffi- 
cient to atone for all the amorous indulgences of the Knights 
Templars ; and thou knowest he hath both the power and will 
to execute so reasonable and pious a purpose.’ 

‘ Will future ages believe that such stupid bigotry ever ex- 
isted ! ’ said Bois-Guilbert, striding up and down the apart- 
ment. 

^What they may believe, I know not,’ said Malvoisin, 
calmly ; ^ but I know well, that in this our day clergy and lay- 
men, take ninety-nine to the hundred, will cry ^^Amen” to 
the Grand Master’s sentence.’ 

‘ I have it,’ said Bois-Guilbert. ‘ Albert, thou art my friend. 
Thou must connive at her escape, Malvoisin, and I will trans- 
port her to some place of greater security and secrecy.’ # 

^ I cannot, if I would,’ replied the preceptor : ^ the mansion 
is filled with the attendants of the Grand Master, and others 
who are devoted to him. And, to be frank with you, brother, 
I would not embark with you in this matter, even if I could 
hope to bring my bark to haven. I have risked enough al- 
ready for your sake. I have no mind to encounter a sentence 
of degradation, or even to lose my preceptory, for the sake of 
a painted piece of Jewish flesh and blood. And you, if you 
will be guided by my counsel, will give up this wild-goose 
chase, and fly your hawk at some other game. Think, Bois- 
Guilbert; thy present rank, thy future honours, all depend 
on thy place in the order. Shouldst thou adhere perversely 
to thy passion for this Eebecca, thou wilt give Beaumanoir the 
power of expelling thee, and he will not neglect it. He is 
jealous of the truncheon which he holds in his trembling 
gripe, and he knows thou stretchest thy bold hand towards it. 
Doubt not he will ruin thee, if thou afiordest him a pretext 
so fair as thy protection of a Jewish sorceress. Give him his 
scope in this matter, for thou canst not control him. Wlien 
the staff is in thine own firm grasp, thou mayest caress the 


376 


IVANHOE 


daughters of Judah, or burn them, as may best suit thine own 
humour/ 

^Malvoisin,’ said Bois-Guilbert, Hhou art a cold- 
blooded ’ 

^ Friend/ said the preceptor, hastening to fill up the blank, 
in which Bois-Guilbert would probably have placed a worse 
word — ^a cold-blooded friend I am, and therefore more fit 
to give thee advice. I tell thee once more, that thou canst 
not save Eebecca. I tell thee once more, thou canst but perish 
with her. Go hie thee to the Grand Master; throw thyself at 
his feet and tell him ’ 

^ Not at his feet, by Heaven ! but to the dotard’s very beard 
will I say ’ 

^ Say to him, then, to his beard,’ continued Malvoisin, 
coolly, ^ that you love this captive J ewess to distraction ; and 
the more thou dost enlarge on thy passion, the greater will be 
his haste to end it by the death of the fair enchantress ; while 
thou, taken in flagrant delict by the avowal of a crime con- 
trary to thine oath, canst hope no aid of thy brethren, and 
must exchange all thy brilliant visions of ambition and power, 
to lift perhaps a mercenary spear in some of the petty quarrels 
between Flanders and Burgundy.’ 

^ Thou speakest the truth, Malvoisin,’ said Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert, after a moment’s reflection. ^ I will give the hoary 
bigot no advantage over me; and for Eebecca, she hath not 
merited at my hand that I should expose rank and honour for 
her sake. I will cast her oft ; yes, I will leave her to her fate, 
unless ’ 

^ Qualify not thy wise and necessary resolution,’ said Mal- 
voisin; 'women are but the toys which amuse our lighter 
hours; ambition is the serious business of life. Perish a 
thousand such frail baubles as this Jewess, before thy manly 
step pause in the brilliant career that lies stretched before 
thee ! For the present we part, nor must we be seen to hold 
close conversation; I must order the hall for his judgment- 
seat.’ 

' What ! ’ said Bois-Guilbert, ' so soon ? ’ 

'Ay,’ replied the preceptor, 'trial moves rapidly on when 
the judge has determined the sentence beforehand.’ 

' Eebecca,’ said Bois-Guilbert, when he was left alone, ' thou 
art like to cost me dear. Why cannot I abandon thee to thy 
fate, as this calm hypocrite recommends? One effort will I 


IVANHOE 


377 


make to save thee; but beware of ingratitude! for, if I am 
again repulsed, my vengeance shall equal my love. The life 
and honour of Bois-Guilbert must not be hazarded, where 
contempt and reproaches are his only reward.^ 

The preceptor had hardly given the necessary orders, when 
he was joined by Conrade Mont-Fitchet, who acquainted him 
with the Grand Master’s resolution to bring the Jewess to 
instant trial for sorcery. 

^ It is surely a dream,’ said the preceptor ; ^ we have many 
Jewish physicians, and we call them not wizards though they 
work wonderful cures.’ 

^ The Grand Master thinks otherwise,’ said Mont-Fitchet ; 
^and, Albert, I will he upright with thee: wizard or not, it 
were better that this miserable damsel die than that Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert should be lost to the order, or the order divided 
by internal dissension. Thou knowest his high rank, his fame 
in arms; thou knowest the zeal with which many of our 
brethren regard him ; but all this will not avail him with our 
Grand Master, should he consider Brian as the accomplice, 
not the victim, of this Jewess. Were the souls of the twelve 
tribes in her single body, it were better she suffered alone 
than that Bois-Guilbert were partner in her destruction.’ 

^ I have been working him even now to abandon her,’ said 
Malvoisin; ^but still, are there grounds enough to condemn 
this Eebecca for sorcery ? Will not the Grand Master change 
his mind when he sees that the proofs are so weak ? ’ 

^ They must be strengthened, Albert,’ replied Mont-Fitchet 
— ^ they must be strengthened. Dost thou understand me ? ’ 

^ I do,’ said the preceptor, ‘ nor do I scruple to do aught for 
advancement of the order; but there is little time to find 
engines fitting.’ 

^ Malvoisin, they must be found,’ said Conrade ; ^ well will 
it advantage both the order and thee. This Templestowe is a 
poor preceptory; that of Maison-Dieu is worth double its 
value. Thou knowest my interest with our old chief; find 
those who can carry this matter through, and thou art pre- 
ceptor of Maison-Dieu in the fertile Kent. How sayst thou ? ’ 
^ There is,’ replied Malvoisin, ^ among those who came 
hither with Bois-Guilbert, two fellows whom I well know; 
servants they were to my brother Philip de Malvoisin, and 
passed from his service to that of Front-de-Boeuf. It may be 
they know something of the witcheries of this woman.’ 


378 


IVANHOE 


^ Away, seek them out instantly ; and hark thee, if a byzant 
or two will sharpen their memory, let them not be wanting/ 

‘ They would swear the mother that bore them a sorceress 
for a zecchin,’ said the preceptor. 

^ Away, then,^ said Mont-Fitchet ; ^ at noon the affair will 
proceed. I have not seen our senior in such earnest prepara- 
tion since he condemned to the stake Hamet Alfagi, a convert 
who relapsed to the Moslem faith.’ 

The ponderous castle-bell had tolled the point of noon, 
when Eebecca heard a trampling of feet upon the private stair 
which led to her place of confinement. The noise announced 
the arrival of several persons, and the circumstance rather 
gave her joy; for she was more afraid of the solitary visits of 
the fierce and passionate Bois-Guilbert than of any evil that 
could befall her besides. The door of the chamber was un- 
locked, and Conrade and the preceptor Malvoisin entered, 
attended by four warders clothed in black, and bearing hal- 
berds. 

^ Daughter of an accursed race ! ’ said the preceptor, ^ arise 
and follow us.’ 

^ Whither,’ said Eebecca, ^ and for what purpose ? ’ 

‘ Damsel,’ answered Conrade, ^ it is not for thee to question, 
but to obey. Nevertheless, be it known to thee, that thou art 
to be brought before the tribunal of the Grand Master of our 
holy order, there to answer for thine offences.’ 

^ May the God of Abraham be praised ! ’ said Eebecca, fold- 
ing her hands devoutly; ^the name of a judge, though an 
enemy to my people, is to me as the name of a protector. 
Most willingly do I follow thee; permit me only to wrap my 
veil around my head.’ 

They descended the stair with slow and solemn step, trav- 
ersed a long gallery, and, by a pair of folding-doors placed at 
the end, entered the great hall in which the Grand Master had 
for the time established his court of justice. 

The lower part of this ample apartment was filled with 
squires and yeomen, who made way, not without some diffi- 
culty, for Eebecca, attended by the preceptor and Mont- 
Fitchet, and followed by the guard of halberdiers, to move 
forward to the seat appointed for her. As she passed through 
the crowd, her arms folded and her head depressed, a scrap 
of paper was thrust into her hand, which she received almost 
unconsciously, and continued to hold without examining its 


IVANHOE 


379 


contents. The assurance that she possessed some friend in 
this awful assembly gave her courage to look around, and to 
mark into whose presence she had been conducted. She gazed, 
accordingly, upon the scene, which we shall endeavour to de- 
scribe in the next chapter. 

COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

Notice tlie admirable presentation of character by means of contrast, 
especially in the case of Albert Malvoisin, the Preceptor of Temple- 
stowe, who is contrasted in turn with Beaumanoir, Bois-Guilbert, and 
Mont-Fitchet. 

Who is Malvoisin? 

Why is he anxious that Bois-Guilbert be kept faithful to his order ? 

As a type how does he differ from his companions ? 

Notice that Scott manages throughout to fix attention on the fate of 
Rebecca. 

What corrupt means are to be employed for her conviction ? 

Whence comes ‘ the scrap of paper » thrust into Rebecca’s hands ? 


CHAPTEE XXXVII 


stern was the law which bade its vot’ries leave 
At human woes with human hearts to grieve ; 

Stern was the law, which at the winning wile 
Of frank and harmless mirth forbade to smile ; 

But sterner still, when high the iron rod 

Of tyrant power she shook, and call’d that power of God. 

The Middle Ages. 

The tribunal, erected for the trial of the innocent and un- 
happy Eebecca, occupied the dais or elevated part of the upper 
end of the great hall — a platform which we have already de- 
scribed as the place of honour, destined to be occupied by the 
most distinguished inhabitants or guests of an ancient man- 
sion. 

On an elevated seat, directly before the accused, sat the 
Grand Master of the Temple, in full and ample robes of flow- 
ing white, holding in his hand the mystic staff which bore the 
symbol of the order. At his feet was placed a table, occupied 
by two scribes, chaplains of the order, whose duty it was to 
reduce to formal record the proceedings of the day. The black 
dresses, bare scalps, and demure looks of these churchmen 
formed a strong contrast to the warlike appearance of the 
knights who attended, either as residing in the preceptory or 
as come thither to attend upon their Grand Master. The pre- 
ceptors, of whom there were four present, occupied seats lower 
in height, and somewhat drawn back behind that of their 
superior; and the knights who enjoyed no such rank in the 
order were placed on benches still lower, and preserving the 
same distance from the preceptors as these from the Grand 
Master. Behind them, but still upon the dais or elevated 
portion of the hall, stood the esquires of the order, in white 
dresses of an inferior quality. 

The whole assembly wore an aspect of the most profound 
gravity; and in the faces of the knights might- be perceived 
traces of military daring, united with the solemn carriage 
becoming men of a religious profession, and which, in the 
presence of their Grand Master, failed not to sit upon every 
brow. 


380 


IVANHOE 


381 


The remaining and lower part of the hall was filled with 
guards, holding partizans, and with other attendants whom 
curiosity had drawn thither to see at once a Grand Master and 
a Jewish sorceress. By far the greater part of those inferior 
persons were, in one rank or other, connected with the order, 
and were accordingly distinguished by their black dresses. 
But peasants from the neighbouring country were not refused 
admittance ; for it was the pride of Beaumanoir to render the 
edifying spectacle of the justice which he administered as pub- 
lic as possible. His large blue eyes seemed to expand as he 
gazed around the assembly, and his countenance appeared 
elated by the conscious dignity and imaginary merit of the 
part which he was about to perform. A psalm, which he him- 
self accompanied with a deep mellow voice, which age had not 
deprived of its powers, commenced the proceedings of the day ; 
and the solemn sounds, Venite, exultemus Domino, so often 
sung by the Templars before engaging with earthly adver- 
saries, was judged by Lucas most appropriate to introduce the 
approaching triumph, for such he deemed it, over the powers 
of darkness. The deep prolonged notes, raised by a hundred 
masculine voices accustomed to combine in the choral chant, 
arose to the vaulted roof of the hall, and rolled on among 
its arches with the pleasing yet solemn sound of the rushing 
of mighty waters. 

When the sounds ceased, the Grand Master glanced his eye 
slowly around the circle, and observed that the seat of one of 
the preceptors was vacant. Brian de Bois-Guilbert, by whom 
it had been occupied, had left his place, and was now standing 
near the extreme corner of one of the benches occupied by 
the knights companions of the Temple, one hand extending 
his long mantle, so as in some degree to hide his face ; while 
the other held his cross-handled sword, with the point of 
which, sheathed as it was, he was slowly drawing lines upon 
the oaken floor. 

^ Unhappy man ! ^ said the Grand Master, after favouring 
him with a glance of compassion. ^ Thou seest, Conrade, how 
this holy work distresses him. To this can the light look of 
woman, aided by the Prince of the Powers of this world, 
bring a valiant and worthy knight ! Seest thou he cannot look 
upon us; he cannot look upon her; and who knows by what 
impulse from his tormentor his hand forms these cabalistic 
lines upon the floor ? It may be our life and safety are thus 


382 


IVANHOE 


aimed at; but we spit at and defy the foul enemy. Semper 
Leo percutiatur ! ' 

This was communicated apart to his confidential follower, 
Conrade Mont-Fitchet. The Grand Master then raised his 
voice and addressed the assembly. 

^Eeverend and valiant men, knights, preceptors, and com- 
panions of this holy order, my brethren and my children! 
you also, well-born and pious esquires, who aspire to wear this 
Holy Cross ! and you also, Christian brethren, of every degree ! 
— be it known to you, that it is not defect of power in us which 
hath occasioned the assembling of this congregation ; for, how- 
ever unworthy in our person, yet to us is committed, with this 
batoon, full power to judge and to try all that regards the weal 
of this our holy order. Holy St. Bernard, in the rule of our 
knightly and religious profession, hath said, in the fifty-ninth 
capital,* that he would not that brethren be called together in 
council, save at the will and command of the Master ; leaving 
it free to us, as to those more worthy fathers who have pre- 
ceded us in this our office, to judge as well of the occasion as of 
the time and place in which a chapter of the whole order, or of 
any part thereof, may be convoked. Also, in all such chapters, 
it is our duty to hear the advice of our brethren, and to pro- 
ceed according to our own pleasure. But when the raging 
wolf hath made an inroad upon the flock, and carried off one 
member thereof, it is the duty of the kind shepherd to call his 
comrades together, that with bows and slings they may quell 
the invader, according to our well-known rule, that the lion is 
ever to be beaten down. We have therefore summoned to our 
presence a Jewish woman, by name Rebecca, daughter of Isaac 
of York — a woman infamous for sortileges and for witcheries ; 
whereby she hath maddened the blood, and besotted the brain, 
not of a churl, but of a knight; not of a secular knight, but 
of one devoted to the service of the Holy Temple; not of a 
knight companion, but of a preceptor of our order, first in 
honour as in place. Our brother, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, is 
well known to ourselves, and to all degrees who now hear me, 
as a true and zealous champion of the Cross, by whose arm 
many deeds of valour have been wrought in the Holy Land, 
and the holy places purified from pollution by the blood of 
those infidels who defiled them. Neither have our brother’s 
sagacity and prudence been less in repute among his brethren 
* The reader is again referred to the rules of the poor military brother- 
hood of the Temple, which occur in the Works of St. Bernard,— L. T. 


IVANHOE 


383 


than his valour and discipline; insomuch that knights, both 
in eastern and western lands, have named De Bois-Guilbert 
as one who may well be put in nomination as successor to this 
batoon, when it shall please Heaven to release us from the toil 
of bearing it. If we were told that such a man, so honoured, 
and so honourable, suddenly casting away regard for his char- 
acter, his vows, his brethren, and his prospects, had associated 
to himself a Jewish damsel, wandered in this lewd company 
through solitary places, defended her person in preference to 
his own, and, finally, was so utterly blinded and besotted by 
his folly, as to bring her even to one of our own preceptories, 
what should we say but that the noble knight was possessed 
by some evil demon, or infiuenced by some wicked spell? If 
we could suppose it otherwise, think not rank, valour, high 
repute, or any earthly consideration, should prevent us from 
visiting him with punishment, that the evil thing might be 
removed, even according to the text, Auferte malum ex vohis. 
For various and heinous are the acts of transgression against 
the rule of our blessed order in this lamentable history. 1st, 
He hath walked according to his proper will, contrary to 
capital 33, Quod nullus juxta propriam voluntatem incedat, 
2d, He hath held communication with an excommunicated 
person, capital 57, Ut fratres non participent cum excom- 
municatis, and therefore hath a portion in Anathema Marana- 
tha. 3d, He hath conversed with strange women, contrary to 
the capital, Ut fratres non conversentur cum extraneis mulier- 
thus. 4th, He hath not avoided, nay, he hath, it is to be 
feared, solicited, the kiss of woman, by which, saith the last 
rule of our renowned order, Ut fugiantur oscula, the soldiers 
of the Cross are brought into a snare. For which heinous and 
multiplied guilt, Brian de Bois-Guilbert should be cut off and 
cast out from our congregation, were he the right hand and 
right eye thereof.^ 

He paused. A low murmur went through the assembly. 
Some of the younger part, who had been inclined to smile at 
the statute De osculis fugiendis, became now grave enough, 
and anxiously waited what the Grand Master was next to 
propose. 

‘ Such,’ he said, ^ and so great should indeed be the punish- 
ment of a Knight Templar who wilfully offended against the 
rules of his order in such weighty points. But if, by means of 
charms and of spells, Satan had obtained dominion over the 


384 


IVANHOE 


knight, perchance because he cast his eyes too lightly upon a 
damsehs beauty, we are then rather to lament than chastise 
his backsliding; and, imposing on him only such penance as 
may purify him from his iniquity, we are to turn the full edge 
of our indignation upon the accursed instrument, which had 
so wellnigh occasioned his utter falling away. Stand forth, 
therefore, and bear witness, ye who have witnessed these un- 
happy doings, that we may judge of the sum and bearing 
thereof; and judge whether our justice may be satisfied with 
the punishment of this infidel woman, or if we must go on, 
with a bleeding heart, to the further proceeding against our 
brother.’ 

Several witnesses were called upon to prove the risks to 
which Bois-Guilbert exposed himself in endeavouring to save 
Eebecca from the blazing castle, and his neglect of his personal 
defence in attending to her safety. The men gave these de- 
tails with the exaggerations common to vulgar minds which 
have been strongly excited by any remarkable event, and their 
natural disposition to the marvellous was greatly increased by 
the satisfaction which their evidence seemed to afford to the 
eminent person for whose information it had been delivered. 
Thus the dangers which Bois-Guilbert surmounted, in them- 
selves sufficiently great, became portentous in their narrative. 
The devotion of the knight to Kebecca’s defence was exagger- 
ated beyond the bounds not only of discretion, but even of the 
most frantic excess of chivalrous zeal; and his deference to 
what she said, even although her language was often severe 
and upbraiding, was painted as carried to an excess which, 
in a man of his haughty temper, seemed almost preternatural. 

The preceptor of Templestowe was then called on to describe 
the manner in which Bois-Guilbert and the Jewess arrived at 
the preceptory. The evidence of Malvoisin was skilfully 
guarded. But while he apparently studied to spare the feel- 
ings of Bois-Guilbert, he threw in, from time to time, such 
hints as seemed to infer that he laboured under some tempo- 
rary alienation of mind, so deeply did he appear to be enam- 
oured of the damsel whom he brought along with him. With 
sighs of penitence, the preceptor avowed his own contrition 
for having admitted Eebecca and her lover within the walls of 
the preceptory. ^But my defence,’ he concluded, ‘has been 
made in my confession to our most reverend father the Grand 
Master; he knows my motives were not evil, though my con- 


IVANHOE 


385 


duct may have been irregular. Joyfully will I submit to any 
penance he shall assign me.^ 

^ Thou hast spoken well, brother Albert/ said Beaumanoir ; 
^thy motives were good, since thou didst Judge it right to 
arrest thine erring brother in his career of precipitate folly. 
But thy conduct was wrong; as he that would stop a runaway 
steed, and seizing by the stirrup instead of the bridle, receiveth 
injury himself, instead of accomplishing his purpose. Thir- 
teen paternosters are assigned by our pious founder for matins, 
and nine for vespers ; be those services doubled by thee. Thrice 
a-week are Templars permitted the use of flesh; but do thou 
keep fast for all the seven days. This do for six weeks to 
come, and thy penance is accomplished.’ 

With a hypocritical look of the deepest submission, the pre- 
ceptor of Templestowe bowed to the ground before his supe- 
rior, and resumed his seat. 

^ Were is not well, brethren,’ said the Grand Master, ^ that 
we examine something into the former life and conversation of 
this woman, especially that we may discover whether she be one 
likely to use magical charms and spells, since the truths which 
we have heard may well incline us to suppose that in this 
unhappy course our erring brother has been acted upon by 
some infernal enticement and delusion ? ’ 

Herman of Goodalricke was the fourth preceptor present; 
the other three were Conrade, Malvoisin, and Bois-Guilbert 
himself. Herman was an ancient warrior, whose face was 
marked with scars inflicted by the sabre of the Moslemah, and 
had great rank and consideration among his brethren. He 
arose and bowed to the Grand Master, who instantly granted 
him license of speech. ^ I would crave to know, most reverend 
father, of our valiant brother, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, what he 
says to these wondrous accusations, and with what eye he him- 
self now regards his unhappy intercourse with this Jewish 
maiden ? ’ 

^ Brian de Bois-Guilbert,’ said the Grand Master, ^thou 
hearest the question which our brother of Goodalricke desirest 
thou shouldst answer. I command thee to reply to him.’ 

Bois-Guilbert turned his head towards the Grand Master 
when thus addressed, and remained silent. 

^ He is possessed by a dumb devil,’ said the Grand Master. 
^ Avoid thee, Sathanas ! Speak, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, I con- 
jure thee, by this symbol of our holy order.’ 


386 


IVANHGE 


Bois-Guilbert made an effort to suppress his rising scorn 
and indignation, the expression of which, he was well aware, 
would have little availed him. ^ Brian de Bois-Guilbert,’ he 
answered, replies not, most reverend father, to such wild and 
vague charges. If his honour be impeached, he will defend it 
with his body, and with that sword which has often fought for 
Christendom.’ 

^ We forgive thee, brother Brian,’ said the Grand Master ; 
though that thou hast boasted thy warlike achievements 
before us is a glorifying of thine own deeds, and cometh of the 
Enemy, who tempteth us to exalt our own worship. But thou 
hast our pardon, judging thou speakest less of thine own 
suggestion than from the impulse of him whom, by Heaven’s 
leave, we will quell and drive forth from our assembly.’ A 
glance of disdain flashed from the dark flerce eyes of Bois- 
Guilbert, but he made no reply. ^ And now,’ pursued the 
Grand Master, ^ since our brother of Goodalricke’s question has 
been thus imperfectly answered, pursue we our quest, brethren, 
and with our patron’s assistance we will search to the bottom 
this mystery of iniquity. Let those who have aught to witness 
of the life and conversation of this Jewish woman stand forth 
before us.’ 

There was a bustle in the lower part of the hall, and when 
the Grand Master inquired the reason, it was replied, there was 
in the crowd a bedridden man, whom the prisoner had restored 
to the perfect use of his limbs, by a miraculous balsam. 

The poor peasant, a Saxon by birth, was dragged forward to 
the bar, terrified at the penal consequences which he might 
have incurred by the guilt of having been cured of the palsy by 
a Jewish damsel. Perfectly cured he certainly was not, for he 
supported himself forward on crutches to give evidence. Most 
unwilling was his testimony, and given with many tears ; but 
he admitted that two years since, when residing at York, he 
was suddenly afflicted with a sore disease, while labouring for 
Isaac the rich Jew, in his vocation of a joiner; that he had 
been unable to stir from his bed until the remedies applied 
by Rebecca’s directions, and especially a warming and spicy- 
smelling balsam, had in some degree restored him to the use of 
his limbs. Moreover, he said, she had given him a pot of that 
precious ointment, and furnished him with a piece of money 
withal, to return to the house of his father, near to Temple- 
stowe. ‘ And may it please your gracious reverence,’ said the 


IVANHOE 


387 


man, I cannot think the damsel meant harm by me, though 
she hath the ill hap to be a Jewess; for even when I used her 
remedy, I said the pater and the creed, and it never operated 
a whit less kindly/ 

Peace, slave,^ said the Grand Master, ^ and begone ! It 
well suits brutes like thee to be tampering and trinketing 
with hellish cures, and to be giving your labour to the sons of 
mischief. I tell thee, the fiend can impose diseases for the 
very purpose of removing them, in order to bring into credit 
some diabolical fashion of cure. Hast thou that unguent of 
which thou speakest ? ’ 

The peasant, fumbling in his bosom with a trembling hand, 
produced a small box, bearing some Hebrew characters on the 
lid, which was, with most of the audience, a sure proof that 
the devil had stood apothecary. Beaumanoir, after crossing 
himself, took the box into his hand, and, learned in most of 
the Eastern tongues, read with ease the motto on the lid — 
^ The Lion of the Tribe of Judah hath conquered.’ ^ Strange 
powers of Sathanas,’ said he, ^ which can convert Scripture 
into blasphemy, mingling poison with our necessary food ! Is 
there no leech here who can tell us the ingredients of this 
mystic unguent ? ’ 

Two mediciners, as they called themselves, the one a monk, 
the other a barber, appeared, and avouched they knew nothing 
of the materials, excepting that they savoured of myrrh and 
camphire, which they took to be Oriental herbs. But with the 
true professional hatred to a successful practitioner of their 
art, they insinuated that, since the medicine was beyond their 
own knowledge, it must necessarily have been compounded 
from an unlawful and magical pharmacopoeia; since they 
themselves, though no conjurors, fully understood every 
branch of their art, so far as it might be exercised with the 
good faith of a Christian. When this medical research was 
ended, the Saxon peasant desired humbly to have back the 
medicine which he had found so salutary ; but the Grand Mas- 
ter frowned severely at the request. ^ What is thy name, fel- 
low ? ’ said he to the cripple. 

^ Higg, the son of Snell,’ answered the peasant. 

^ Then, Higg, son of Snell,’ said the Grand Master, ^ I tell 
thee, it is better to be bedridden than to accept the benefit of 
unbelievers’ medicine that thou mayest arise and walk ; better 
to despoil infidels of their treasure by the strong hand than to 


388 


lYANHOE 


accept of them benevolent gifts, or do them service for wages. 
Go thou, and do as I have said.’ 

^ Alack/ said the peasant, ‘an it shall not displease your 
reverence, the lesson comes too late for me, for I am but a 
maimed man ; but I will tell my two brethren, who serve the 
rich rabbi Nathan ben Samuel [Israel], that your mastership 
says it is more lawful to rob him than to render him faithful 
service.’ 

‘ Out with the prating villain ! ’ said Beaumanoir, who was 
not prepared to refute this practical application of his general 
maxim. 

Higg, the son of Snell, withdrew into the crowd, but, inter- 
ested in the fate of his benefactress, lingered until he should 
learn her doom, even at the risk of again encountering the 
frown of that severe judge, the terror of which withered his 
very heart within him. 

At this period of the trial, the Grand Master commanded 
Eebecca to unveil herself. Opening her lips for the first time, 
she replied patiently, but with dignity, ‘ That it was not the 
wont of the daughters of her people to uncover their faces 
when alone in an assembly of strangers.’ The sweet tones of 
her voice, and the softness of her reply, impressed on the 
audience a sentiment of pity and sympathy. But Beaumanoir, 
in whose mind the suppression of each feeling of humanity 
which could interfere with his imagined duty was a virtue of 
itself, repeated his commands that his victim should be un- 
veiled. The guards were about to remove her veil accordingly, 
when she stood up before the Grand Master, and said, ‘ Nay, 
but for the love of your own daughters — alas,’ she said, recol- 
lecting herself, ‘ ye have no daughters ! — yet for the remem- 
brance of your mothers, for the love of your sisters, and of 
female decency, let me not be thus handled in your presence : 
it suits not a maiden to be disrobed by such rude grooms. I 
will obey you,’ she added, with an expression of patient sorrow 
in her voice, which had almost melted the heart of Beau- 
manoir himself; ‘ye are elders among your people, and at 
your command I will show the features of an ill-fated 
maiden.’ 

She withdrew her veil, and looked on them with a counte- 
nance in which bashfulness contended with dignity. Her 
exceeding beauty excited a murmur of surprise, and the 
younger knights told each other with their eyes, in silent cor- 


lYANHOE 


389 


respondence, that Brian’s best apology was in the power of 
her real charms, rather than of her imaginary witchcraft. 
But Higg, the son of Snell, felt most deeply the effect pro- 
duced by the sight of the countenance of his benefactress. 

‘ Let me go forth,’ he said to the warders at the door of the 
hall — ^ let me go forth ! To look at her again will kill me, for 
I have had a share in murdering her.’ 

^ Peace, poor man,’ said Eebecca, when she heard his ex- 
clamation ; ^ thou hast done me no harm by speaking the truth ; 
thou canst not aid me by thy complaints or lamentations. 
Peace, I pray thee ; go home and save thyself.’ 

Higg was about to be thrust out by the compassion of the 
warders, who were apprehensive lest his clamorous grief should 
draw upon them reprehension, and upon himself punishment. 
But he promised to be silent, and was permitted to remain. 
The two men-at-arms, with whom Albert Malvoisin had not 
failed to communicate upon the import of their testimony, 
were now called forward. Though both were hardened and 
inflexible villains, the sight of the captive maiden, as well as 
her excelling beauty, at flrst appeared to stagger them; but 
an expressive glance from the preceptor of Templestowe re- 
stored them to their dogged composure; and they delivered, 
with a precision which would have seemed suspicious to more 
impartial judges, circumstances either altogether fictitious 
or trivial, and natural in themselves, but rendered pregnant 
with suspicion by the exaggerated manner in which they were 
told, and the sinister commentary which the witnesses added 
to the facts. The circumstances of their evidence would have 
been, in modern days, divided into two classes — ^those which 
were immaterial and those which were actually and physically 
impossible. But both were, in those ignorant and superstitious 
times, easily credited as proofs of guilt. The first class set 
forth that Eebecca was heard to mutter to herself in an un- /- 
known tongue; that the songs she sung by fits were of a 
strangely sweet sound, which made the ears of the hearer 
tingle and his heart throb ; that she spoke at times to herself, 
and seemed to look upward for a reply; that her garments 
were of a strange and mystic form, unlike those of women of 
good repute; that she had rings impressed with cabalistical 
devices, and that strange characters were broidered on her 
veil. All these circumstances, so natural and so trivial, were 
gravely listened to as proofs, or at least as affording strong 


390 


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suspicions, that Eebecca had unlawful correspondence with 
mystical powers. 

But there was less equivocal testimony, which the credulity 
of the assembly, or of the greater part, greedily swallowed, 
however incredible. One of the soldiers had seen her work a 
cure upon a wounded man brought with them to the castle of 
Torquilstone. ^ She did/ he said, ^ make certain signs upon 
the wound, and repeated certain mysterious words, which he 
blessed God he understood not, when the iron head of a 
square cross-bow bolt disengaged itself from the wound, the 
bleeding was stanched, the wound was closed, and the dying 
man was, within the quarter of an hour, walking upon the 
ramparts, and assisting the witness in managing a mangonel, 
or machine for hurling stones.’ This legend was probably 
founded upon the fact that Eebecca had attended on the 
wounded Ivanhoe when in the castle of Torquilstone. But it 
was the more difficult to dispute the accuracy of the witness, 
as, in order to produce real evidence in support of his verbal 
testimony, he drew from his pouch the very bolt-head which, 
according to his story, had been miraculously extracted from 
the wound; and as the iron weighed a full ounce, it com- 
pletely confirmed the tale, however marvellous. 

His comrade had been a witness from a neighbouring battle- 
ment of the scene betwixt Eebecca and Bois-Guilbert, when 
she was upon the point of precipitating herself from the top of 
the tower. Hot to be behind his companion, this fellow stated 
that he had seen Eebecca perch herself upon the parapet of the 
turret, and there take the form of a milk-white swan, under 
which appearance she flitted three times round the castle of 
Torquilstone ; then again settle on the turret, and once more 
assume the female form. 

Less than one half of this weighty evidence would have 
been sufficient to convict any old woman, poor and ugly, even 
though she had not been a Jewess. United with that fatal 
circumstance, the body of proof was too weighty for Eebecca’s 
youth, though combined with the most exquisite beauty. 

The Grand Master had collected the suffrages, and now in a 
solemn tone demanded of Eebecca what she had to say against 
the sentence of condemnation which he was about to pro- 
nounce. 

" To invoke your pity/ said the lovely Jewess, with a voice 
somewhat tremulous with emotion, ^ would, I am aware, be as 


IVANHOE 


391 


useless as I should hold it mean. To state, that to relieve the 
sick and wounded of another religion cannot be displeasing to 
the acknowledged Founder of both our faiths, were also un- 
availing ; to plead, that many things which these men — whom 
may Heaven pardon ! — have spoken against me are impossible, 
would avail me but little, since you believe in their possibility ; 
and still less would it advantage me to explain that the 
peculiarities of my dress, language, and manners are those of 
my people — I had wellnigh said of my country, but, alas ! we 
have no country. Nor will I even vindicate myself at the 
expense of my oppressor, who stands there listening to the 
fictions and surmises which seem to convert the tyrant into 
the victim. God be judge between him and me! but rather 
would I submit to ten such deaths as your pleasure may de- 
nounce against me than listen to the suit which that man of 
Belial has urged upon me — friendless, defenceless, and his 
prisoner. But he is of your own faith, and his lightest af- 
firmance would weigh down the most solemn protestations of 
the distressed Jewess. I will not therefore return to himself 
the charge brought against me ; but to himself — yes, Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert, to thyself I appeal, whether these accusations 
are not false? as monstrous and calumnious as they are 
deadly ? ’ 

There was a pause; all eyes turned to Brian de Bois-Guil- 
bert. He was silent. 

‘ Speak,’ she said, ‘ if thou art a man ; if thou art a Chris- 
tian, speak! I conjure thee, by the habit which thou dost 
wear — by the name thou dost inherit — by the knighthood thou 
dost vaunt — by the honour of thy mother — by the tomb and 
the bones of thy father — I conjure thee to say, are these things 
true ? ’ 

‘Answer her, brother,’ said the Grand Master, ‘if the 
Enemy with whom thou dost wrestle will give thee power.’ 

In fact, Bois-Guilbert seemed agitated by contending pas- 
sions, which almost convulsed his features, and it was with a 
constrained voice that at last he replied, looking to Rebecca — 
‘ The scroll ! — the scroll ! ’ 

‘ Ay,’ said Beaumanoir, ‘ this is indeed testimony ! The 
victim of her witcheries can only name the fatal scroll, the 
spell inscribed on which is, doubtless, the cause of his silence.’ 

But Rebecca put another interpretation on the words ex- 
torted as it were from Bois-Guilbert, and glancing her eye 


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IVANHOE 


upon the slip of parchment which she continued to hold in her 
hand, she read written thereupon in the Arabian character, 
^ Demand a champion ! ’ The murmuring commentary which 
ran through the assembly at the strange reply of Bois-Guilbert 
gave Kebecca leisure to examine and instantly to destroy the 
scroll unobserved. When the whisper had ceased, the Grand 
Master spoke. 

^ Kebecca, thou canst derive no benefit from the evidence of 
this unhappy knight, for whom, as we well perceive, the 
Enemy is yet too powerful. Hast thou aught else to say ? ^ 

^ There is yet one chance of life left to me,’ said Rebecca, 
^ even by your own fierce laws. Life has been miserable — 
miserable, at least, of late — ^but I will not cast away the gift of 
God while He affords me the means of defending it. I deny 
this charge : I maintain my innocence, and I declare the false- 
hood of this accusation. I challenge the privilege of trial by 
combat, and will appear by my champion.’ 

^And who, Rebecca,’ replied the Grand Master, ^will lay 
lance in rest for a sorceress? who will be the champion of a 
J ewess ? ’ 

^ God will raise me up a champion,’ said Rebecca. ^ It can- 
not be that in merry England, the hospitable, the generous, the 
free, where so many are ready to peril their lives for honour, 
there will not be found one to fight for justice. But it is enough 
that I challenge the trial by combat: there lies my gage.’ 

She took her embroidered glove from her hand, and flung 
it down before the Grand Master with an air of mingled sim- 
plicity and dignity which excited universal surprise and ad- 
miration. 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

Describe the setting for the trial of Rebecca. Note the points in the 
Grand Master’s opening address. 

What specific acts of transgression are urged against Bois-Guilbert ? 
How are they accounted for ? 

What is the evidence against Rebecca 7 
Who among the witnesses is the most interesting 7 
Is Bois-Guilbert really in love with Rebecca 7 
What is the purport of Rebecca’s address to the court 7 
Who suggests that she demand a champion 7 

Observe the formality of the appeal. In his usual manner, Scott here 
points forward to another crisis— in this instance to the last, after which 
the story is to be brought to its close. 


CHAPTEE XXXVIII 


There I throw my gage, 

To prove it on thee to the extremest point 
Of martial daring. 

Richard II. 

Even Lucas Beaumanoir himself was affected by the mien and 
appearance of Eebecca. He was not originally a cruel or even 
a severe man; but with passions by nature cold, and with a 
high, though mistaken, sense of duty, his heart had been 
gradually hardened by the ascetic life which he pursued, the 
supreme power which he enjoyed, and the supposed necessity 
of subduing infidelity and eradicating heresy which he con- 
ceived peculiarly incumbent on him. His features relaxed in 
their usual severity as he gazed upon the beautiful creature 
before him, alone, unfriended, and defending herself with so 
much spirit and courage. He crossed himself twice, as doubt- 
ing whence arose the unwonted softening of a heart which on 
such occasions used to resemble in hardness the steel of his 
sword. At length he spoke. 

^ Damsel,^ he said, ‘ if the pity I feel for thee arise from any 
practice thine evil arts have made on me, great is thy guilt. 
But I rather judge it the kinder feelings of nature, which 
grieves that so goodly a form should be a vessel of perdition. 
Eepent, my daughter, confess thy witchcrafts, turn thee from 
thine evil faith, embrace this holy emblem, and all shall yet 
be well with thee here and hereafter. In some sisterhood of 
the strictest order shalt thou have time for prayer and fitting 
penance, and that repentance not to be repented of. This do 
and live : what has the law of Moses done for thee that thou 
shouldest die for it ? ^ 

‘It was the law of my fathers,’ said Eebecca; ‘it was de- 
livered in thunders and in storms upon the mountain of Sinai, 
in cloud and in fire. This, if ye are Christians, ye believe. It 
is, you say, recalled ; but so my teachers have not taught me.’ 

‘ Let our chaplain,’ said Beaumanoir, ‘ stand forth, and tell 
this obstinate infidel ’ 


393 


394 


IVANHOE 


^ Forgive the interruption/ said Eebecca, meekly ; ^ I am a 
maiden, unskilled to dispute for my religion ; but I can die for 
it, if it be God’s will. Let me pray your answer to my demand 
of a champion.’ 

^ Give me her glove,’ said Beaumanoir. ' This is indeed/ he 
continued, as he looked at the flimsy texture and slender 
fingers, ^ a slight and frail gage for a purpose so deadly ! 
Seest thou, Eebecca, as this thin and light glove of thine is to 
one of our heavy steel gauntlets, so is thy cause to that of the 
Temple, for it is our order which thou hast defied.’ 

‘ Cast my innocence into the scale/ answered Eebecca, ^ and 
the glove of silk shall outweigh the glove of iron.’ 

^ Then thou dost persist in thy refusal to confess thy guilt, 
and in that bold challenge which thou hast made ? ’ 

^ I do persist, noble sir/ answered Eebecca. 

^ So be it then, in the name of Heaven/ said the Grand 
Master ; and may God show the right ! ’ 

^ Amen,’ replied the preceptors around him, and the word 
was deeply echoed by the whole assembly. 

‘ Brethren/ said Beaumanoir, ‘ you are aware that we might 
well have refused to this woman the benefit of the trial by 
combat ; but, though a J ewess and an unbeliever, she is also a 
stranger and defenceless, and God forbid that she should ask 
the benefit of our mild laws and that it should be refused to 
her. Moreover, we are knights and soldiers as well as men of 
religion, and shame it were to us, upon any pretence, to refuse 
proffered combat. Thus, therefore, stands the case. Eebecca, 
the daughter of Isaac of York, is, by many frequent and sus- 
picious circumstances, defamed of sorcery practised on the 
person of a noble knight of our holy order, and hath chal- 
lenged the combat in proof of her innocence. To whom, 
reverend brethren, is it your opinion that we should deliver 
the gage of battle, naming him, at the same time, to be our 
champion on the field ? ’ 

^ To Brian de Bois-Guilbert, whom it chiefly concerns/ said 
the preceptor of Goodalricke, ^ and who, moreover, best knows 
how the truth stands in this matter.’ 

^ But if/ said the Grand Master, ^ our brother Brian be 
under the influence of a charm or a spell — we speak but for 
the sake of precaution, for to the arm of none of our holy 
order would we more willingly confide this or a more weighty 
cause.’ 


IVANHOE 


395 


^Eeverend father/ answered the preceptor of Goodalricke, 
^ no spell can affect the champion who comes forward to fight 
for the judgment of God.’ 

‘ Thou sayest right, brother/ said the Grand Master. 
^ Albert Malvoisin, give this gage of battle to Brian de Bois- 
Guilbert. It is our charge to thee, brother/ he continued, ad- 
dressing himself to Bois-Guilbert, ^that thou do thy battle 
manfully, nothing doubting that the good cause shall triumph. 
And do thou, Eebecca, attend, that we assign thee the third 
day from the present to find a champion.’ 

‘ That is but brief space/ answered Eebecca, ^ for a stranger, 
who is also of another faith, to find one who will do battle, 
wagering life and honour for her cause, against a knight who 
is called an approved soldier.’ 

^ We may not extend it/ answered the Grand Master ; ^ the 
field must be foughten in our own presence, and divers weighty 
causes call us on the fourth day from hence.’ 

^ God’s will be done ! ’ said Eebecca ; ^ I put my trust in 
Him, to whom an instant is as effectual to save as a whole 
age.’ 

‘ Thou hast spoken well, damsel/ said the Grand Master ; 
^ but well know we who can array himself like an angel of 
light. It remains but to name a fitting place of combat, and, 
if it so hap, also of execution. Where is the preceptor of this 
house ? ’ 

Albert Malvoisin, still holding Eebecca’s glove in his hand, 
was speaking to Bois-Guilbert very earnestly, but in a low 
voice. 

^ How ! ’ said the Grand Master, ^ will he not receive the 
gage ? ’ 

‘ He will — he doth, most reverend father/ said Malvoisin, 
slipping the glove under his own mantle. ‘ And for the place 
of combat, I hold the fittest to be the lists of St. George 
belonging to this preceptory, and used by us for military 
exercise.’ 

^It is well/ said the Grand Master. ‘Eebecca, in those 
lists shalt thou produce thy champion; and if thou failest to 
do so, or if thy champion shall be discomfited by the judgment 
of God, thou shalt then die the death of a sorceress, according 
to doom. Let this our judgment be recorded, and the record 
read aloud that no one may pretend ignorance.’ 

One of the chaplains who acted as clerks to the chapter 


396 


IVANHOE 


immediately engrossed the order in a huge volume, which con- 
tained the proceedings of the Templar Knights when solemnly 
assembled on such occasions ; and when he had finished writ- 
ing, the other read aloud the sentence of the Grand Master, 
which, when translated from the Norman-French in which it 
was couched, was expressed as follows: — 

^Eebecca, a Jewess, daughter of Isaac of York, being at- 
tainted of sorcery, seduction, and other damnable practices, 
practised on a knight of the most holy order of the Temple 
of Zion, doth deny the same, and saith that the testimony 
delivered against her this day is false, wicked, and disloyal ; 
and that by lawful essoine * of her body, as being unable to 
combat in her own behalf, she doth offer, by a champion 
instead thereof, to avouch her case, he performing his loyal 
devoir in all knightly sort, with such arms as to gage of battle 
do fully appertain, and that at her peril and cost. And there- 
with she proffered her gage. And the gage having been de- 
livered to the noble lord and knight, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
of the holy order of the Temple of Zion, he was appointed to 
do this battle in behalf of his order and himself, as injured 
and impaired by the practices of the appellant. Wherefore 
the most reverend father and puissant lord, Lucas Marquis of 
Beaumanoir, did allow of the said challenge, and of the said 
essoine of the appellant’s body, and assigned the third day for 
the said combat, the place being the inclosure called the lists 
of St. George, near to the preceptory of Templestowe. And 
the Grand Master appointed the appellant to appear there by 
her champion, on pain of doom, as a person convicted of 
sorcery or seduction; and also the defendant so to appear, 
under the penalty of being held and adjudged recreant in case 
of default; and the noble lord and most reverend faljier 
aforesaid appointed the battle to be done in his own presence, 
and according to all that is commendable and profitable in 
such a case. And may God aid the just cause ! ’ 

^ Amen ! ’ said the Grand Master ; and the word was echoed 
by all around. Eebecca spoke not, but she looked up to 
Heaven, and, folding her hands, remained for a minute with- 
out change of attitude. She then modestly reminded the 
Grand Master that she ought to he permitted some opportunity 

* Essoine signifies excuse, and here relates to the appellant’s privilege 
of appearing by her champion, in excuse of her own person on account of 
her sex. 


IVANHOE 


397 


of free communication with her friends, for the purpose of 
making her condition known to them, and procuring, if possi- 
ble, some champion to fight in her behalf. 

^ It is just and lawful,’ said the Grand Master ; ^ choose what 
messenger thou shalt trust, and he shall have free communica- 
tion with thee in thy prison-chamber.’ 

^ Is there,’ said Rebecca, any one here who, either for love 
of a good cause or for ample hire, will do the errand of a dis- 
tressed being ? ’ 

All were silent ; for none thought it safe, in the presence of 
the Grand Master, to avow any interest in the calumniated 
prisoner, lest he should be suspected of leaning towards Juda- 
ism. Not even the prospect of reward, far less any feelings 
of compassion alone, could surmount this apprehension. 

Rebecca stood for a few moments in indescribable anxiety, 
and then exclaimed, ^ Is it really thus ? And in English land 
am I to be deprived of the poor chance of safety which re- 
mains to me, for want of an act of charity which would not 
be refused to the worst criminal ? ’ 

Higg, the son of Snell, at length replied, ^I am but a 
maimed man, but that I can at all stir or move was owing to 
her charitable assistance. I will do thine errand,’ he added, 
addressing Rebecca, ^as well as a crippled object can, and 
happy were my limbs fleet enough to repair the mischief done 
by my tongue. Alas ! when I boasted of thy charity, I little 
thought I was leading thee into danger ! ’ 

^ God,’ said Rebecca, ^ is the disposer of all. He can turn 
back the captivity of Judah, even by the weakest instrument. 
To execute His message the snail is as sure a messenger as 
the falcon. Seek out Isaac of York — here is that will pay 
for horse and man — let him have this scroll. I know not if it 
be of Heaven the spirit which inspires me, but most truly do 
I judge that I am not to die this death, and that a champion 
will be raised up for me. Farewell ! Life and death are in 
thy haste.’ 

The peasant took the scroll, which contained only a few 
lines in Hebrew. Many of the crowd would have dissuaded 
him from touching a document so suspicious; but Higg was 
resolute in the service of his benefactress. ^ She had saved his 
body,’ he said, ^and he was confident she did not mean to 
peril his soul.’ 

will get me,’ he said, ^my neighbour Buthan’s good 


398 lYANHOE 

capul, and I will be at York within as brief space as man and 
beast may/ 

But, as it fortuned, he had no occasion to go so far, for 
within a quarter of a mile from the gate of the preceptory he 
met with two riders, whom, by their dress and their huge 
yellow caps, he knew to be Jews; and, on approaching more 
nearly, discovered that one of them was his ancient employer, 
Isaac of York. The other was the Eabbi ben Samuel [Israel] ; 
and both had approached as near to the preceptory as they 
dared, on hearing that the Grand Master had summoned a 
chapter for the trial of a sorceress. 

^ Brother ben Samuel,^ said Isaac, ^ my soul is disquieted, 
and I wot not why. This charge of necromancy is right often 
used for cloaking evil practices on our people.’ 

^Be of good comfort, brother,’ said the physician; Hhou 
canst deal with the Nazarenes as one possessing the mammon 
of unrighteousness, and canst therefore purchase immunity at 
their hands : it rules the savage minds of those ungodly men, 
even as the signet of the mighty Solomon was said to command 
the evil genii. But what poor wretch comes hither upon his 
crutches, desiring, as I think, some speech of me? Friend,’ 
continued the physician, addressing Higg, the son of Snell, ^ I 
refuse thee not the aid of mine art, but I relieve not with one 
asper those who beg for alms upon the highway. Out upon 
thee! Hast thou the palsy in thy legs? then let thy hands 
work for thy livelihood; for, albeit thou be’st unfit for a 
speedy post, or for a careful shepherd, or for the warfare, or 

for the service of a hasty master, yet there be occupations 

How now, brother ? ’ said he, interrupting his harangue to look 
towards Isaac, who had but glanced at the scroll which Higg 
offered, when, uttering a deep groan, he fell from his mule like 
a dying man, and lay for a minute insensible. 

The Eabbi now dismounted in great alarm, and hastily 
applied the remedies which his art suggested for the recovery 
of his companion. He had even taken from his pocket a cup- 
ping apparatus, and was about to proceed to phlebotomy, when 
the object of his anxious solicitude suddenly revived; but it 
was to dash his cap from his head, and to throw dust on his 
grey hairs. The physician was at first inclined to ascribe this 
sudden and violent emotion to the effects of insanity ; and, ad- 
hering to his original purpose, began once again to handle his 
implements. But Isaac soon convinced him of his error. 


IVANHOE 


399 


^ Child of my sorrow/ he said, ‘ well shouldst thou be called 
Benoni, instead of Rebecca ! Why shouldst thy death bring 
down my grey hairs to the grave, till, in the bitterness of my 
heart, I curse God and die ! ^ 

'Brother,’ said the Rabbi, in great surprise, 'art thou a 
father in Israel, and dost thou utter words like unto these? 
I trust that the child of thy house yet liveth ? ’ 

' She liveth,’ answered Isaac ; ' but it is as Daniel, who was 
called Belteshazzar, even when within the den of the lions. 
She is captive unto those men of Belial, and they will wreak 
their cruelty upon her, sparing neither for her youth nor her 
comely favour. 0 ! she was as a crown of green palms to my 
grey locks ; and she must wither in a night, like the gourd of 
Jonah! Child of my love! — child of my old age! — oh, Re- 
becca, daughter of Rachael! the darkness of the shadow of 
death hath encompassed thee.’ 

' Yet read the scroll,’ said the Rabbi ; ' peradventure it may 
be that we may yet find out a way of deliverance.’ 

' Do thou read, brother,’ answered Isaac, ' for mine eyes are 
as a fountain of water.’ 

The physician read, but in their native language, the fol- 
lowing words: — 

' To Isaac, the son of Adonikam, whom the Gentiles call 
Isaac of York, peace and the blessing of the promise be multi- 
plied unto thee ! My father, I am as one doomed to die for 
that which my soul knoweth not, even for the crime of witch- 
craft. My father, if a strong man can be found to do battle 
for my cause with sword and spear, according to the custom 
of the Nazarenes, and that within the lists of Templestowe, on 
the third day from this time, peradventure our fathers’ God 
will give him strength to defend the innocent, and her who 
hath none to help her. But if this may not be, let the virgins 
of our people mourn for me as for one cast off, and for the 
hart that is stricken by the hunter, and for the fiower which is 
cut down by the scythe of the mower. Wherefore look now 
what thou doest, and whether there be any rescue. One Yaza- 
rene warrior might indeed bear arms in my behalf, even Wil- 
fred, son of Cedric, whom the Gentiles call Ivanhoe. But he 
may not yet endure the weight of his armour. Nevertheless, 
send the tidings unto him, my father; for he hath favour 
among the strong men of his people, and as he was our com- 
panion in the house of bondage, he may find some one to do 


400 


IVANHOE 


battle for my sake. And say unto him — even unto him — even 
unto Wilfred, the son of Cedric, that if Eebecca live, or if 
Eebecca die, she liveth or dieth wholly free of the guilt she is 
charged withal. And if it be the will of God that thou shalt 
be deprived of thy daughter, do not thou tarry, old man, in 
this land of bloodshed and cruelty ; but betake thyself to Cor- 
dova, where thy brother liveth in safety, under the shadow of 
the throne, even of the throne of Boabdil the Saracen; for 
less cruel are the cruelties of the Moors unto the race of Jacob 
than the cruelties of the Nazarenes of England.’ 

Isaac listened with tolerable composure while Ben Samuel 
[Israel] read the letter, and then again resumed the gestures 
and exclamations of Oriental sorrow, tearing his garments, be- 
sprinkling his head with dust, and ejaculating, ^ My daughter ! 
my daughter ! flesh of my flesh, and bone of my bone ! ’ 

‘ Yet,’ said the Eabbi, ^ take courage, for this grief availeth 
nothing. Gird up thy loins, and seek out this Wilfred, the 
son of Cedric. It may be he will help thee with counsel or 
with strength ; for the youth hath favour in the eyes of Eich- 
ard, called of the Nazarenes Coeur-de-Lion, and the tidings 
that he hath returned are constant in the land. It may be 
that he may obtain his letter, and his signet, commanding 
these men of blood, who take their name from the Temple to 
the dishonour thereof, that they proceed not in their purposed 
wickedness.’ 

^ I will seek him out,’ said Isaac, ^ for he is a good youth, 
and hath compassion for the exile of Jacob. But he cannot 
bear his armour, and what other Christian shall do battle for 
the oppressed of Zion ? ’ 

^Nay, but,’ said the Eabbi, ^thou speakest as one that 
knoweth not the Gentiles. With gold shalt thou buy their 
valour, even as with gold thou buyest thine own safety. Be of 
good courage, and do thou set forward to find out this Wilfred 
of Ivanhoe. I will also up and be doing, for great sin it were 
to leave thee in thy calamity. I will hie me to the city of 
York, where many warriors and strong men are assembled, and 
doubt not I will find among them some one who will do battle 
for thy daughter; for gold is their god, and for riches will they 
pawn their lives as well as their lands. Thou wilt fulfil, my 
brother, such promise as I may make unto them in thy name ? ’ 

'Assuredly, brother,’ said Isaac, 'and Heaven be praised 
that raised me up a comforter in my misery ! Howbeit, grant 


lYANHOE 


401 


them not their full demand at once, for thou shalt find it the 
quality of this accursed people that they will ask pounds, and 
peradventure accept of ounces. Nevertheless, be it as thou 
wiliest, for I am distracted in this thing, and what would my 
gold avail me if the child of my love should perish ! ’ 

‘ Farewell,’ said the physician, ‘ and may it be to thee as thy 
heart desireth.’ 

They embraced accordingly, and departed on their several 
roads. The crippled peasant remained for some time looking 
after them. 

^ These dog J ews ! ’ said he ; ^ to take no more notice of a 
free guild-brother than if I were a bond slave or a Turk, or a 
circumcised Hebrew like themselves ! They might have flung 
me a mancus or two, however. I was not obliged to bring 
their unhallowed scrawls, and run the risk of being bewitched, 
as more folks than one told me. And what care I for the bit 
of gold that the wench gave me, if I am to come to harm from 
the priest next Easter at confession, and be obliged to give him 
twice as much to make it up with him, and be called the Jew’s 
flying post all my life, as it may hap, into the bargain? I 
think I was bewitched in earnest when I was beside that girl ! 
But it was always so with J ew or Gentile, whosoever came near 
her : none could stay when she had an errand to go ; and still, 
whenever I think of her, I would give shop and tools to save 
her life.’ 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

What artistic means are here employed to give ns an impression of 
the beauty and charm of Rebecca 7 
How much time is allowed her for finding a champion ? 

Where is the combat to take place ? 

Why is Bois-Guilbert reluctant to receive the gage ? 

Who alone oflFers to be Rebecca’s messenger to her father? 

Under what circumstances does he meet Isaac ? 

Does Rebecca’s message seem over long for the occasion ? 

What possible champion does she mention ? 

Isaac and Samuel depart for what places ? 

What are the reflections of Higg as they leave him 7 


CHAPTER XXXIX 


O maid, unrelenting and cold as thou art, 

My bosom is proud as thine own. 

Seward. 


It was in the twilight of the day when her trial, if it could be 
called such, had taken place, that a low knock was heard at the 
door of Rebecca’s prison-chamber. It disturbed not the in- 
mate, who was then engaged in the evening prayer recom- 
mended by her religion, and which concluded with a hymn we 
have ventured thus to translate into English : — 

When Israel, of the Lord beloved, 

Out of the land of bondage came, 

Her fathers’ God before her moved. 

An awful guide, in smoke and flame. 

By day, along the astonish’d lands 
The cloudy pillar glided slow ; 

By night, Arabia’s crimson’d sands 
Return’d the fiery column’s glow. 

There rose the choral hymn of praise, 

And trump and timbrel answer’d keen. 

And Zion’s daughters pour’d their lays. 

With priest’s and warrior’s voice between. 

No potents now our foes amaze, 

Forsaken Israel wanders lone ; 

Our fathers would not know Thy ways. 

And Thou hast left them to their own. 

But, present still, though now unseen. 

When brightly shines the prosperous day, 

Be thoughts of Thee a cloudy screen 
To temper the deceitful ray. 

And oh, when stoops on Judah’s path 
In shade and storm the frequent night. 

Be Thou, long-suifering, slow to wrath, 

A burning and a shining light ! 

Our harps we left by Babel’s streams. 

The tyrant’s jest, the Gentile’s scorn ; 

No censer round our altar beams. 

And mute our timbrel, trump, and horn. 

But Thou hast said, the blood of goat. 

The flesh of rams, I will not prize ; 

A contrite heart, an humble thought. 

Are Mine accepted sacrifice. 

403 


IVANHOE 


403 


When the sounds of Rebecca’s devotional hymn had died 
away in silence, the low knock at the door was again renewed. 
‘ Enter/ she said, "if thou art a friend; and if a foe, I have 
not the means of refusing thy entrance.’ 

^ " I am/ said Brian de Bois-Guilbert, entering the apartment, 

friend or foe, Rebecca, as the event of this interview shall 
make me.’ 

Alarmed at the sight of this man, whose licentious passion 
she considered as the root of her misfortunes, Rebecca drew 
backward with a cautious and alarmed, yet not a timorous, 
demeanour into the farthest corner of the apartment, as if 
determined to retreat as far as she could, but to stand her 
ground when retreat became no longer possible. She drew 
herself into an attitude not of defiance, but of resolution, as 
one that would avoid provoking assault, yet was resolute to 
repel it, being olfered, to the utmost of her power. 

" You havp no reason to fear me, Rebecca,’ said the Templar ; 
" or, if I must so qualify my speech, you have at least now no 
reason to fear me.’ 

" I fear you not. Sir Knight/ replied Rebecca, although her 
short-drawn breath seemed to belie the heroism of her accents; 

" my trust is strong, and I fear thee not.’ 

" You have no cause/ answered Bois-Guilbert, gravely ; " my 
former frantic attempts you have not now to dread. Within 
your call are guards over whom I have no authority. They 
are designed to conduct you to death, Rebecca, yet would not 
suffer you to be insulted by any one, even by me, were my 
frenzy — for frenzy it is — to urge me so far.’ 

"May Heaven be praised!’ said the Jewess; "death is the 
least of my apprehensions in this den of evil.’ 

"Ay/ replied the Templar, "the idea of death is easily re- 
ceived by the courageous mind^ when the road to it is sudden 
and open. A thrust with a lance, a stroke with a sword, were 
to me little ; to you, a spring from a dizzy battlement, a stroke 
with a sharp poniard, has no terrors, compared with what 
either thinks disgrace. Mark me — I say this — perhaps mine 
own sentiments of honour are not less fantastic, Rebecca, than 
thine are ; but we know alike how to die for them.’ 

" Unhappy man/ said the J ewess ; " and art thou condemned 
to expose thy life for principles of which thy sober judgment 
does not acknowledge the solidity? Surely this is a parting 
with your treasure for that which is not bread. But deem 


404 


IVANHOE 


not so of me. Thy resolution may fluctuate on the wild and 
changeful billows of human opinion ; but mine is anchored on 
the Eock of Ages.^ 

^ Silence, maiden,^ answered the Templar ; ^ such discourse 
now avails but little. Thou art condemned to die not a sudden 
and easy death, such as misery chooses and despair welcomes, 
but a slow, wretched, protracted course of torture, suited to 
what the diabolical bigotry of these men calls thy crime.^ 

^ And to whom — if such my fate — to whom do I owe this ? ’ 
said Eebecca ; ^ surely only to him who, for a most selfish and 
brutal cause, dragged me hither, and who now, for some un- 
known purpose of his own, strives to exaggerate the wretched 
fate to which he exposed me.’ 

^ Think not,’ said the Templar, ^ that I have so exposed 
thee; I would have bucklered thee against such dangers with 
my own bosom, as freely as ever I exposed it to the shafts 
which had otherwise reached thy life.’ 

Had thy purpose been the honourable protection of the 
innocent,’ said Eebecca, ^ I had thanked thee for thy care ; as 
it is, thou hast claimed merit for it so often that I tell thee 
life is worth nothing to me, preserved at the price which thou 
wouldst exact for it.’ 

^ Truce with thine upbraidings, Eebecca,’ said the Tem- 
plar ; ^ I have my own cause of grief, and brook not that thy 
reproaches should add to it.’ 

^ What is thy purpose, then. Sir Knight? ’ said the Jewess; 
^ speak it briefly. If thou hast aught to do save to witness the 
misery thou hast caused, let me know it; and then, if so it 
please you, leave me to myself. The step between time and 
eternity is short but terrible, and I have few moments to pre- 
pare for it.’ 

perceive, Eebecca,’ said Bois-Guilbert, ^that thou dost 
continue to burden me with the charge of distresses which 
most fain would I have prevented.’ 

^ Sir Knight,’ said Eebecca, ^ I would avoid reproaches ; but 
what is more certain than that I owe my death to thine un- 
bridled passion ? ’ 

^ You err — ^you err,’ said the Templar, hastily, ^ if you im- 
pute what I could neither foresee nor prevent to my purpose 
or agency. Could I guess the unexpected arrival of yon 
dotard, whom some flashes of frantic valour, and the praises 
yielded by fools to the stupid self -torments of an ascetic, have 


IVANHOE 


405 


raised for th6 present above his own merits, above common 
sense, above me, and above the hundreds of our order who 
think and feel as men free from such silly and fantastic preju- 
dices as are the grounds of his opinions and actions ? ’ 

^ Yet,’ said Rebecca, ^ you sate a judge upon me ; innocent — 
most innocent — as you knew me to be, you concurred in my 
condemnation ; and, if I aright understood, are yourself to 
appear in arms to assert my guilt, and assure my punishment.’ 

‘ Thy patience, maiden,’ replied the Templar. ^ No race 
knows so well as thine own tribes how to submit to the time, 
and so to trim their bark as to make advantage even of an 
adverse wind.’ 

^ Lamented be the hour,’ said Rebecca, ^ that has taught 
such art to the House of Israel ! but adversity bends the heart 
as fire bends the stubborn steel, and those who are no longer 
their own governors, and the denizens of their own free inde- 
pendent state, must crouch before strangers. It is our curse. 
Sir Knight, deserved, doubtless, by our own misdeeds and 
those of our fathers ; but you — you who boast your freedom as 
your birthright, how much deeper is your disgrace when you 
stoop to soothe the prejudices of others, and that against your 
own conviction ? ’ 

^ Your words are bitter, Rebecca,’ said Bois-Guilbert, pacing 
the apartment with impatience, ^but I came not hither to 
bandy reproaches with you. Know that Bois-Guilbert yields 
not to created man, although circumstances may for a time 
induce him to alter his plan. His will is the mountain stream, 
which may indeed be turned for a little space aside by the 
rock, but fails not to find its course to the ocean. That scroll 
which warned thee to demand a champion, from whom couldst 
thou think it came, if not from Bois-Guilbert ? In whom else 
couldst thou have excited such interest ? ’ 

brief respite from instant death,’ said Rebecca, ^ which 
will little avail me. Was this all thou couldst do for one on 
whose head thou hast heaped sorrow, and whom thou hast 
brought near even to the verge of the tomb ? ’ 

^ No, maiden,’ said Bois-Guilbert, ^ this was not all that I 
purposed. Had it not been for the accursed interference of 
yon fanatical dotard, and the fool of Goodalricke, who, being a 
Templar, affects to think and judge according to the ordinary 
rules of humanity, the office of the champion defender had 
devolved, not on a preceptor, but on a companion of the order. 


406 


lYANHOE 


Then I myself — such was my purpose — had, oh the sounding 
of the trumpet, appeared in the lists as thy champion, dis- 
guised indeed in the fashion of a roving knight, who seeks 
adventures to prove his shield and spear; and then, let Beau- 
manoir have chosen not one but two or three of the brethren 
here assembled, I had not doubted to cast them out of the 
saddle with my single lance. Thus, Eebecca, should thine 
innocence have been avouched, and to thine own gratitude 
would I have trusted for the reward of my victory.’ 

^ This, Sir Knight,’ said Eebecca, ‘ is but idle boasting — a 
brag of what you would have done had you not found it con- 
venient to do otherwise. You received my glove, and my 
champion, if a creature so desolate can find one, must encoun- 
ter your lance in the lists ; yet you would assume the air of my 
friend and protector ! ’ 

^ Thy friend and protector,’ said the Templar, gravely, ‘ I 
will yet be ; but mark at what risk, or rather at what certainty, 
of dishonour; and then blame me not if I make my stipula- 
tions before I offer up all that I have hitherto held dear, to 
save the life of a Jewish maiden.’ 

^ Speak,’ said Eebecca ; ‘ I understand thee not.’ 

^ Well, then,’ said Bois-Guilbert, ^ I will speak as freely as 
ever did doting penitent to his ghostly father, when placed in 
the tricky confessional. Eebecca, if I appear not in these lists 
I lose fame and rank — -lose that which is the breath of my 
nostrils, the esteem, I mean, in which I am held by my 
brethren, and the hopes I have of succeeding to that mighty 
authority which is now wielded by the bigoted dotard Lucas 
de Beaumanoir, but of which I should make a far different 
use. Such is my certain doom, except I appear in arms against 
thy cause. Accursed be he of Goodalricke, who baited this 
trap for me! and doubly accursed Albert de Malvoisin, who 
withheld me from the resolution I had formed of hurling back 
the glove at the face of the superstitious and superannuated 
fool who listened to a charge so absurd, and against a creature 
so high in mind and so lovely in form as thou art ! ’ 

^ And what now avails rant or flattery ? ’ answered Eebecca. 
^ Thou hast made thy choice between causing to be shed the 
blood of an innocent woman, or of endangering thine own 
earthly state and earthly hopes. What avails it to reckon 
together? thy choice is made.’ 

^ No, Eebecca,’ said the knight, in a softer tone, and drawing 


IVANHOE 


407 


nearer towards her, ^ my choice is not made ; nay, mark, it is 
thine to make the election. If I appear in the lists, I must 
maintain my name in arms; and if I do so, championed or 
unchampioned, thou diest by the stake and faggot, for there 
lives not the knight who hath coped with me in arms on equal 
issue or on terms of vantage, save Eichard Coeur-de-Lion and 
his minion of Ivanhoe. Ivanhoe, as thou well knowest, is 
unable to bear his corslet, and Eichard is in a foreign prison. 
If I appear, then thou diest, even although thy charms should 
instigate some hot-headed youth to enter the lists in thy de- 
fence.^ 

‘ And what avails repeating this so often ? ’ said Eebecca. 

^ Much,’ replied the Templar ; ^ for thou must learn to look 
at thy fate on every side.’ 

^ Well, then, turn the tapestry,’ said the Jewess, ^ and let me 
see the other side.’ 

‘ If I appear,’ said Bois-Guilbert, ^ in the fatal lists, thou 
diest by a slow and cruel death, in pain such as they say is 
destined to the guilty hereafter. But if I appear not, then am 
I a degraded and dishonoured knight, accused of witchcraft 
and of communion with infidels: the illustrious name which 
has grown yet more so under my wearing becomes a hissing 
and a reproach. I lose fame — I lose honour — I lose the pros- 
pect of such greatness as scarce emperors attain to ; I sacrifice 
mighty ambition — I destroy schemes built as high as the 
mountains with which heathens say their heaven was once 
nearly scaled ; and 3^et, Eebecca,’ he added, throwing himself at 
her feet, ^ this greatness will I sacrifice — this fame will I re- 
nounce — this power will I forego, even now when it is half 
within my grasp, if thou wilt say, Bois-Guilbert, I receive 
thee for my lover.” 

^ Think not of such foolishness. Sir Knight,’ answered Ee- 
becca, ‘but hasten to the Eegent, the Queen Mother, and to 
Prince John; they cannot, in honour to the English crown, 
allow of the proceedings of your Grand Master. So shall you 
give me protection without sacrifice on your part, or the pre- 
text of requiring any requital from me.’ 

‘ With these I deal not,’ he continued, holding the train of 
her robe — ‘it is thee only I address; and what can counter- 
balance thy choice ? Bethink thee, were I a fiend, yet death is 
a worse, and it is death who is my rival.’ 

‘ I weigh not these evils,’ said Eebecca, afraid to provoke 


408 


WAVERLEY NOVELS 


the wild knight, yet equally determined neither to endure his 
passion nor even feign to endure it. ^ Be a man, be a Chris- 
tian! If indeed thy faith recommends that mercy which 
rather your tongues than your actions pretend, save me from 
this dreadful death, without seeking a requital which would 
change thy magnanimity into base barter.^ 

^ No, damsel ! ^ said the proud Templar, springing up, ^ thou 
shalt not thus impose on me : if I renounce present fame and 
future ambition, I renounce it for thy sake, and we will escape 
in company. Listen to me, Rebecca,^ he said, again softening 
his tone ; ‘ England — Europe — is not the world. There are 
spheres in which we may act, ample enough even for my ambi- 
tion. We will go to Palestine, where Conrade Marquis of 
Montserrat is my friend — a friend free as myself from the 
doting scruples which fetter our free-born reason : rather with 
Saladin will we league ourselves than endure the scorn of the 
bigots whom we contemn. I will form new paths to great- 
ness,’ he continued, again traversing the room with hasty 
strides ; ^ Europe shall hear the loud step of him she has 
driven from her sons 1 Not the millions whom her crusaders 
send to slaughter can do so much to defend Palestine ; not the 
sabres of the thousands and ten thousands of Saracens can 
hew their way so deep into that land for which nations are 
striving, as the strength and policy of me and those brethren 
who, in despite of yonder old bigot, will adhere to me in good 
and evil. Thou shalt be a queen, Rebecca : on Mount Carmel 
shall we pitch the throne which my valour will gain for you, 
and I will exchange my long-desired batoon for a sceptre I ’ 

^ A dream,’ said Rebecca — ^ an empty vision of the night, 
which, were it a waking reality, affects me not. Enough, that 
the power which thou mightest acquire I will never share; 
nor hold I so light of country or religious faith as to esteem 
him who is willing to barter these ties, and cast away the 
bonds of the order of which he is a sworn member, in order to 
gratify an unruly passion for the daughter of another people. 
Put not a price on my deliverance. Sir Knight — sell not a deed 
of generosity — protect the oppressed for the sake of charity, 
and not for a selfish advantage. Go to the throne of England ; 
Richard will listen to my appeal from these cruel men.’ 

" Never, Rebecca ! ’ said the Templar, fiercely. ^ If I re- 
nounce my order, for thee alone will I renounce it. Ambition 
shall remain mine, if thou refuse my love ; I will not be fooled 


IVANHOE 


409 


on all hands. Stoop my crest to Eichard ? — ask a boon of that 
heart of pride? Never, Eebecca, will I place the order of the 
Temple at his feet in my person. I may forsake the order; I 
never will degrade or betray it.’ 

^ Now God be gracious to me/ said Eebecca, ‘ for the succour 
of man is wellnigh hopeless ! ’ 

^ It is indeed/ said the Templar ; ‘ for, proud as thou art, 
thou hast in me found thy match. If I enter the lists with my 
spear in rest, think not any human consideration shall prevent 
my putting forth my strength ; and think then upon thine own 
fate — to die the dreadful death of the worst of criminals — to 
be consumed upon a blazing pile — dispersed to the elements of 
which our strange forms are so mystically composed — not a 
relic left of that graceful frame, from which we could say this 
lived and moved ! Eebecca, it is not in woman to sustain this 
prospect — thou wilt yield to my suit.’ 

^ Bois-Guilbert/ answered the Jewess, ^ thou knowest not the 
heart of woman, or hast only conversed with those who are 
lost to her best feelings. I tell thee, proud Templar, that not 
in thy fiercest battles hast thou displayed more of thy vaunted 
courage than has been shown by woman when called upon to 
suffer by affection or duty. I am myself a woman, tenderly 
nurtured, naturally fearful of danger, and impatient of pain ; 
yet, when we enter those fatal lists, thou to fight and I to 
suffer, I feel the strong assurance within me that my courage 
shall mount higher than thine. Farewell. I waste no more 
words on thee ; the time that remains on earth to the daughter 
of Jacob must be otherwise spent: she must seek the Com- 
forter, who may hide His face from His people, but who ever 
opens His ear to the cry of those who seek Him in sincerity 
and in truth.’ 

^ We part then thus ? ’ said the Templar, after a short pause ; 
^ would to Heaven that we had never met, or that thou hadst 
been noble in birth and Christian in faith ! Nay, by Heaven ! 
when I gaze on thee, and think when and how we are next to 
meet, I could even wish myself one of thine own degraded 
nation; my hand conversant with ingots and shekels, instead 
of spear and shield; my head bent down before each petty 
noble, and my look only terrible to the shivering and bank- 
rupt debtor — this could I wish, Eebecca, to be near to thee 
in life, and to escape the fearful share I must have in thy 
death.’ 


410 


IVANHOE 


‘ Thou hast spoken the Jew/ said Eebecca, ‘ as the persecu- 
tion of such as thou art has made him. Heaven in ire has 
driven him from his country, but industry has opened to him 
the only road to power and to influence which oppression has 
left unbarred. Read the ancient history of the people of God, 
and tell me if those by whom Jehovah wrought such marvels 
among the nations were then a people of misers and of 
usurers ! And know, proud knight, we number names amongst 
us to which your boasted northern nobility is as the gourd 
compared with the cedar — names that ascend far back to those 
high times when the Divine Presence shook the mercy-seat 
between the cherubim, and which derive their splendour from 
no earthly prince, but from the awful Voice which bade their 
fathers be nearest of the congregation to the Vision. Such 
were the princes of the House of Jacob.’ 

Rebecca’s colour rose as she boasted the ancient glories of 
her race, but faded as she added, with a sigh, ^ Such were the 
princes of Judah, now such no more! They are trampled 
down like the shorn grass, and mixed with the mire of the 
ways. Yet are there those among them who shame not such 
high descent, and of such shall be the daughter of Isaac the 
son of Adonikam! Farewell! I envy not thy blood- won 
honours; I envy not thy barbarous descent from Northern 
heathens ; I envy thee not thy faith, which is ever in thy mouth 
but never in thy heart nor in thy practice.’ 

^ There is a spell on me, by Heaven ! ’ said Bois-Guilbert. 
almost think yon besotted skeleton spoke truth, and that 
the reluctance with which I part from thee hath something in 
it more than is natural. Fair creature ! ’ he said, approaching 
near her, but with great respect, ^ so young, so . beautiful, so 
fearless of death ! and yet doomed to die, and with infamy and 
agony. Who would not weep for thee? The tear, that has 
been a stranger to these eyelids for twenty years, moistens 
them as I gaze on thee. But it must be — nothing may now 
save thy life. Thou and I are but the blind instruments of 
some irresistible fatality, that hurries us along, like goodly 
vessels driving before the storm, which are dashed against 
each other, and so perish. Forgive me, then, and let us part 
at least as friends part. I have assailed thy resolution in vain, 
and mine own is fixed as the adamantine decrees of fate.’ 

‘ Thus,’ said Rebecca, ‘ do men throw on fate the issue of 
their own wild passions. But I do forgive thee, Bois-Guilbert, 


IVANHOE 


411 


though the author of my early death. There are noble things 
which cross over thy powerful mind ; but it is the garden of 
the sluggard, and the weeds have rushed up, and conspired to 
choke the fair and wholesome blossom.^ 

'Yes,’ said the Templar, 'I am, Eebecca, as thou hast 
spoken me, untaught, untamed; and proud that, amidst a 
shoal of empty fools and crafty bigots, I have retained the pre- 
eminent fortitude that places me above them. I have been a 
child of battle from my youth upward, high in my views, 
steady and inflexible in pursuing them. Such must I remain 
— proud, inflexible, and unchanging; and of this the world 
shall have proof. But thou f orgivest me, Eebecca ? ’ 

' As freely as ever victim forgave her executioner.’ 

'Farewell, then,’ said the Templar, and left the apart- 
ment. 

The preceptor Albert waited impatiently in an adjacent 
chamber the return of Bois-Guilbert. 

'Thou hast tarried long,’ he said; 'I have been as if 
stretched on red-hot iron with very impatience. What if the 
Grand Master, or his spy Conrade, had come hither? I had 
paid dear for my complaisance. But what ails thee, brother ? 
Thy step totters, thy brow is as black as night. Art thou 
well, Bois-Guilbert ? ’ 

' Ay, answered the Templar, ' as well as the wretch who is 
doomed to die within an hour. Nay, by the rood, not half so 
well; for there be those in such state who can lay down life 
like a cast-ofl garment. By Heaven, Malvoisin, yonder girl 
hath wellnigh unmanned me. I am half resolved to go to the 
Grand Master, abjure the order to his very teeth, and refuse to 
act the brutality which his tyranny has imposed on me.’ 

' Thou art mad,’ answered Malvoisin ; ' thou mayst thus in- 
deed utterly ruin thyself, but canst not even find a chance 
thereby to save the life of this J ewess, which seems so precious 
in thine eyes. Beaumanoir will name another of the order 
to defend his judgment in thy place, and the accused will as 
assuredly perish as if thou hadst taken the duty imposed on 
thee.’ 

'’Tis false; I will myself take arms in her behalf,’ an- 
swered the Templar, haughtily ; ' and should I do so, I think, 
Malvoisin, that thou knowest not one of the order who will 
keep his saddle before the point of my lance.’ 

' Ay, but thou forgettest,’ said the wily adviser, ' thou wilt 


412 


IVANHOE 


have neither leisure nor opportunity to execute this mad pro- 
ject. Go to Lucas Beaumanoir, and say thou hast renounced 
thy vow of obedience, and see how long the despotic old man 
will leave thee in personal freedom. The words shall scarce 
have left thy lips, ere thou wilt either be an hundred feet 
under ground, in the dungeon of the preceptory, to abide trial 
as a recreant knight; or, if his opinion holds concerning thy 
possession, thou wilt be enjoying straw, darkness, and chains 
in some distant convent cell, stunned with exorcisms, and 
drenched with holy water, to expel the foul fiend which hath 
obtained dominion over thee. Thou must to the lists, Brian, 
or thou art a lost and dishonoured man.’ 

will break forth and fiy,’ said Bois-Guilbert — ^fly to 
some distant land, to which folly and fanaticism have not yet 
found their way. No drop of the blood of this most excellent 
creature shall be spilled by my sanction.’ 

^ Thou canst not fly,’ said the preceptor : ^ thy ravings have 
excited suspicion, and thou wilt not be permitted to leave the 
preceptory. Go and make the essay: present thyself before 
the gate, and command the bridge to be lowered, and mark 
what answer thou shalt receive. Thou art surprised and 
offended; but is it not the better for thee? Wert thou to fly, 
what would ensue but the reversal of thy arms, the dishonour 
of thine ancestry, the degradation of thy rank ? Think on it. 
Where shall thine old companions in arms hide their heads 
when Brian de Bois-Guilbert, the best lance of the Templars, 
is proclaimed recreant, amid the hisses of the assembled peo- 
ple ? What grief will be at the Court of France ! With what 
joy will the haughty Eichard hear the news, that the knight 
that set him hard in Palestine, and wellnigh darkened his re- 
nown, has lost fame and honour for a Jewish girl, whom he 
could not even save by so costly a sacrifice ! ’ 

‘ Malvoisin,’ said the Knight, I thank thee — thou hast 
touched the string at which my heart most readily thrills! 
Come of it what may, recreant shall never be added to the 
name of Bois-Guilbert. Would to God, Eichard, or any of his 
vaunting minions of England, would appear in these lists! 
But they will be empty — no one will risk to break a lance for 
the innocent, the forlorn.’ 

^ The better for thee, if it prove so,’ said the preceptor ; ‘ if 
no champion appears, it is not by thy means that this unlucky 
damsel shall die, but by the doom of the Grand Master, with 


IVANHOE 


413 


whom rests all the blame, and who will count that blame for 
praise and commendation/ 

‘ True,^ said Bois-Guilbert ; ‘ if no champion appears, I am 
but a part of the pageant, sitting indeed on horseback in the 
lists, but having no part in what is to follow/ 

^ None whatever,’ said Malvoisin — ^ no more than the armed 
image of St. George when it makes part of a procession.’ 

‘ Well, I will resume my resolution,’ replied the haughty 
Templar. ‘ She has despised me — repulsed me — reviled me ; 
and wherefore should I offer up for her whatever of estimation 
I have in the opinion of others ? Malvoisin, I will appear in 
the lists.’ 

He left the apartment hastily as he uttered these words, and 
the preceptor followed, to watch and confirm him in his reso- 
lution ; for in Bois-Guilbert’s fame he had himself a strong in- 
terest, expecting much advantage from his being one day at 
the head of the order, not to mention the preferment of which 
Mont-Fitchet had given him hopes, on condition he would for- 
ward the condemnation of the unfortunate Eebecca. Yet 
although, in combating his friend’s better feelings, he pos- 
sessed all the advantage which a wily, composed, selfish dispo- 
sition has over a man agitated by strong and contending 
passions, it required all Malvoisin’s art to keep Bois-Guilbert 
steady to the purpose he had prevailed on him to adopt. He 
was obliged to watch him closely to prevent his resuming his 
purpose of flight, to intercept his communication with the 
Grand Master, lest he should come to an open rupture with 
his superior, and to renew, from time to time, the various 
arguments by which he endeavoured to show that, in appearing 
as champion on this occasion, Bois-Guilbert, without either 
accelerating or ensuring the fate of Rebecca, would follow the 
only course by which he could save himself from degradation 
and disgrace. 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

Though unnattiral in style, even running into rant, this is a great 
chapter. 

Is the opening hymn appropriate ? 

What had Bois-Guilbert intended to do at the trial ? 

What conflicting motives sway the Templar ? 


414 


IVANHOE 


Why is he titiwillitig to appeal, as Rebecca susrgests, to the Regrent, to 
John, or to Richard against the proceedings of the Grand Master? 
What plan of escape is urged upon Rebecca ? 

To what extent is the Templar a fatalist ? 

What is his state of mind after leaving Rebecca ? 

What is his purpose at this time ? 

What fears for himself lead him to change his resolution ? 

What part does Malvoisin play in effecting this change ? 

Prom whom had the Templar learned that the wounded knight is 
Ivanhoe ? 

Does this scene add to your admiration of Rebecca ? 

What new light does it throw upon the Templar ? 

The entire scene should be studied carefully, and compared with that 
between Rebecca and Bois-Guilbert in the Castle of Pront-de-Boeuf. 


CHAPTEE XL 

Shadows avaunt !— Richard’s himself again. 

Richard III. 

When the Black Knight — for it becomes necessary to resume 
the train of his adventures — left the trysting-tree of the 
generous outlaw, he held his way straight to a neighbouring 
religious house, of small extent and revenue, called the priory 
of St. Botolph, to which the wounded Ivanhoe had been re- 
moved when the castle was taken, under the guidance of the 
faithful Gurth and the magnanimous Wamba. It is unneces- 
sary at present to mention what took place in the interim 
betwixt Wilfred and his deliverer ; suffice it to say that, after 
long and grave communication, messengers were despatched 
by the prior in several directions, and that on the succeeding 
morning the Black Knight was about to set forth on his 
journey, accompanied by the jester, Wamba, who attended as 
his guide. 

^ We will meet,’ he said to Ivanhoe, ^ at Coningsburgh, the 
castle of the deceased Athelstane, since there thy father Cedric 
holds the funeral feast for his noble relation. I would see 
your Saxon kindred together, Sir Wilfred, and become better 
acquainted with them than heretofore. Thou also wilt meet 
me ; and it shall be my task to reconcile thee to thy father.’ 

So saying, he took an affectionate farewell of Ivanhoe, who 
expressed an anxious desire to attend upon his deliverer. But 
the Black Knight would not listen to the proposal. 

^Eest this day; thou wilt have scarce strength enough to 
travel on the next. I will have no guide with me but honest 
Wamba, who can play priest or fool as I shall be most in the 
humour.’ 

‘ And I,’ said Wamba, ^ will attend you with all my heart. 
I would fain see the feasting at the funeral of Athelstane ; for, 
if it be not full and frequent, he will rise from the dead to re- 
buke cook, sewer, and cupbearer ; and that were a sight worth 
seeing. Always, Sir Knight, I will trust your valour with 

415 


416 


IVANHOE 


making my excuse to my master Cedric, in case mine own wit 
should fail/ 

‘ And how should my poor valour succeed, Sir J ester, when 
thy light wit halts ? resolve me that/ 

‘ Wit, Sir Knight,^ replied the Jester, ^ may do much. He is 
a quick, apprehensive knave, who sees his neighbour’s blind 
side, and knows how to keep the lee-gage when his passions are 
blowing high. But valour is a sturdy fellow, that makes all 
split. He rows against both wind and tide, and makes way 
notwithstanding; and, therefore, good Sir Knight, while I 
take advantage of the fair weather in our noble master’s tem- 
per, I will expect you to bestir yourself when it grows rough.’ 

^ Sir Knight of the Fetterlock, since it is your pleasure so to 
be distinguished,’ said Ivanhoe, ^ I fear me you have chosen a 
talkative and a troublesome fool to be your guide. But he 
knows every path and alley in the woods as well as e’er a 
hunter who frequents them ; and the poor knave, as thou hast 
partly seen, is as faithful as steel.’ 

^ Kay,’ said the Knight, ‘ an he have the gift of showing my 
road, I shall not grumble with him that he desires to make it 
pleasant. Fare thee well, kind Wilfred; I charge thee not to 
attempt to travel till to-morrow at earliest.’ 

So saying, he extended his hand to Ivanhoe, who pressed it 
to his lips, took leave of the prior, mounted his horse, and de- 
parted, with Wamba for his companion. Ivanhoe followed 
them with his eyes until they were lost in the shades of the 
surrounding forest, and then returned into the convent. 

But shortly after matin-song he requested to see the prior. 
The old man came in haste, and inquired anxiously after the 
state of his health. 

‘ It is better,’ he said, ‘ than my fondest hope could have 
anticipated; either my wound has been slighter than the 
effusion of blood led me to suppose, or this balsam hath 
wrought a wonderful cure upon it. I feel already as if I 
could bear my corslet; and so much the better, for thoughts 
pass in my mind which render me unwilling to remain here 
longer in inactivity.’ 

^ Kow, the saints forbid,’ said the prior, ^that the son of the 
Saxon Cedric should leave our convent ere his wounds were 
healed! It were shame to our profession were we to suf- 
fer it.” 

^ Kor would I desire to leave your hospitable roof, venerable 


IVANHOE 


417 


father/ said Ivanhoe, " did I not feel myself able to endure the 
journey, and compelled to undertake it/ 

‘ And what can have urged you to so sudden a departure ? ’ 
said the prior. 

‘ Have you never, holy father,’ answered the knight, ' felt 
an apprehension of approaching evil, for which you in vain 
attempted to assign a cause? Have you never found your 
mind darkened, like the sunny landscape, by the sudden cloud, 
which augurs a coming tempest ? And thinkest thou not that 
such impulses are deserving of attention, as being the hints of 
our guardian spirits that danger is impending? ’ 

‘ I may not deny/ said the prior, crossing himself, ^ that 
such things have been, and have been of Heaven; but then 
such communications have had a visibly useful scope and ten- 
dency. But thou, wounded as thou art, what avails it thou 
shouldst follow the steps of him whom thou couldst not aid, 
were he to be assaulted ? ’ 

^ Prior/ said Ivanhoe, ^ thou dost mistake — I am stout 
enough to exchange buffets with any who will challenge me to 
such a traffic. But were it otherwise, may I not aid him, were 
he in danger, by other means than by force of arms ? It is but 
too well known that the Saxons love not the Norman race, 
and who knows what may be the issue if he break in upon them 
when their hearts are irritated by the death of Athelstane, 
and their heads heated by the carousal in which they will in- 
dulge themselves? I hold his entrance among them at such 
a moment most perilous, and I am resolved to share or avert 
the danger; which, that I may the better do, I would crave o,f 
thee the use of some palfrey whose pace may be softer than 
that of my destrier* 

^ Surely/ said the worthy churchman ; ‘ you shall have mine 
own ambling jennet, and I would it ambled as easy for your 
sake as that of the abbot of St. Alban’s. Yet this will I say 
for Malkin, for so I call her, that unless you were to borrow a 
ride on the juggler’s steed that paces a hornpipe amongst the 
eggs, you could not go a journey on a creature so gentle and 
smooth-paced. I have composed many a homily on her back^ 
to the edification of my brethren of the convent and many 
poor Christian souls.’ 

^ I pray you, reverend father/ said Ivanhoe, ^ let Malkin be 
got ready instantly, and bid Gurth attend me with mine 
arms.’ 


418 


IVANHOE 


^ Nay but, fair sir/ said the prior, ^ I pray you to remember 
that Malkin hath as little skill in arms as her master, and that 
I warrant not her enduring the sight or weight of your full 
panoply. 0, Malkin, I promise you, is a beast of judgment, 
and will contend against any undue weight. I did but borrow 
the Friictus Temporum from the priest of St. Bee’s, and I 
promise you she would not stir from the gate until I had 
exchanged the huge volume for my little breviary.’ 

^ Trust me, holy father/ said Ivanhoe, ‘ I will not distress 
her with too much weight ; and if she calls a combat with me, 
it is odds but she has the worst.’ 

This reply was made while Gurth was buckling on the 
knight’s heels a pair of large gilded spurs, capable of convinc- 
ing any restive horse that his best safety lay in being con- 
formable to the will of his rider. 

The deep and sharp rowels with which Ivanhoe’s heels w^ere 
now armed began to make the worthy prior repent of his 
courtesy, and ejaculate, ^ Nay but, fair sir, now I bethink me, 
my Malkin abideth not the spur. Better it were that you 
tarry for the mare of our manciple down at the grange, which 
may be had in little more than an hour, and cannot but be 
tractable, in respect that she draweth much of our winter fire- 
wood, and eateth no corn.’ 

^ I thank you, reverend father, but wfill abide by your first 
offer, as I see Malkin is already led forth to the gate. Gurth 
shall carry mine armour ; and for the rest, rely on it that, as I 
will not overload Malkin’s back, she shall not overcome my 
patience. And now, farewell ! ’ 

Ivanhoe now descended the stairs more hastily and easily 
than his wound promised, and threw himself upon the jennet, 
eager to escape the importunity of the prior, who stuck as 
closely to his side as his age and fatness would permit, now 
singing the praises of Malkin, now recommending caution to 
the knight in managing her. 

^ She is at the most dangerous period for maidens as well as 
mares/ said the old man, laughing at his own jest, ‘ being 
barely in her fifteenth year.’ 

Ivanhoe, who had other web to weave than to stand can- 
vassing a palfrey’s paces with its owner, lent but a deaf ear to 
the prior’s grave advices and facetious jests, and having leapt 
on his mare, and commanded his squire (for such Gurth now 
called himself) to keep close by his side, he followed the track 


lYANHOE 


419 


of the Black Knight into the forest, while the prior stood at 
the gate of the convent looking after him, and ejaculating, 
^St. Mary! how prompt and fiery be these men of war! I 
would I had not trusted Malkin to his keeping, for, crippled 
as I am with the cold rheum, I am undone if aught but 
good befalls her. And yet,^ said he, recollecting himself, ^ as 
I would not spare my own old and disabled limbs in the good 
cause of Old England, so Malkin must e’en run her hazard on 
the same venture ; and it may be they will think our poor house 
worthy of some munificent guerdon ; or, it may be, they will 
send the old prior a pacing nag. And if they do none of these, 
as great men will forget little men’s service, truly I shall hold 
me well repaid in having done that which is right. And it is 
now wellnigh the fitting time to summon the brethren to 
breakfast in the refectory. Ah! I doubt they obey that call 
more cheerily than the bells for primes and matins.’ 

So the prior of St. Botolph’s hobbled back again into the 
refectory, to preside over the stock-fish and ale which were just 
serving out for the friars’ breakfast. Pursy and important, he 
sat him down at the table, and many a dark word he threw 
out of benefits to be expected to the convent, and high deeds 
of service done by himself, which at another season would 
have attracted observation. But as the stock-fish was highly 
salted, and the ale reasonably powerful, the jaws of the 
brethren were too anxiously employed to admit of their making 
much use of their ears ; nor do we read of any of the fraternity 
who was tempted to speculate upon the mysterious hints of 
their superior, except Father Diggory, who was severely af- 
flicted by the toothache, so that he could only eat on one side 
of his jaws. 

In the meantime, the Black Champion and his guide were 
pacing at their leisure through the recesses of the forest; 
the good Knight whiles humming to himself the lay of some 
enamoured troubadour, sometimes encouraging by questions 
the prating disposition of his attendant, so that their dia- 
logue formed a whimsical mixture of song and jest, of which 
we would fain give our readers some idea. You are then to 
imagine this Knight, such as we have already described him, 
strong of person, tall, broad-shouldered, and large of bone, 
mounted on his mighty black charger, which seemed made 
pn purpose to bear his weight, so easily he paced forward 


420 


IVANHOE 


under it, having the visor of his helmet raised, in order to 
admit freedom of breath, yet keeping the beaver, or under 
part, closed, so that his features could be but imperfectly dis- 
tinguished. But his ruddy, embrowned cheek-bones could be 
plainly seen, and the large and bright blue eyes, that flashed 
from under the dark shade of the raised visor ; and the whole 
gesture and look of the champion expressed careless gaiety and 
fearless confidence — a mind which was unapt to apprehend 
danger, and prompt to defy it when most imminent, yet with 
whom danger was a familiar thought, as with one whose trade 
was war and adventure. 

The J ester wore his usual fantastic habit, but late accidents 
had led him to adopt a good cutting falchion, instead of his 
wooden sword, with a targe to match it ; of both which weapons 
he had, notwithstanding his profession, shown himself a skil- 
ful master during the storming of Torquilstone. Indeed, the 
infirmity of Wamba’s brain consisted chiefly in a kind of im- 
patient irritability, which suffered him not long to remain 
quiet in any posture, or adhere to any certain train of ideas, 
although he was for a few minutes alert enough in performing 
any immediate task, or in apprehending any immediate topic. 
On horseback, therefore, he was perpetually swinging himself 
backwards and forwards, now on the horse’s ears, then anon on 
the very rump of the animal; now hanging both his legs on 
one side, and now sitting with his face to the tail, moping, 
mowing, and making a thousand apish gestures, until his 
palfrey took his freak so much to heart as fairly to lay him 
at his length on the green grass — an incident which greatly 
amused the Knight, but compelled his companion to ride 
more steadily thereafter. 

At the point of their journey at which we take them up, 
this joyous pair were engaged in singing a virelai, as it was 
called, in which the clown bore a mellow burden to the better- 
instructed Knight of the Fetterlock. And thus run the 
ditty : — 


Anna Marie, love, up is the sun, 

Anna Marie, love, morn is begun, 

Mists are dispersing, love, birds singing free. 

Up in the morning, love, Anna Marie. 

Anna Marie, love, up in the morn. 

The hunter is winding blythe sounds on his horn, 
The echo rings merry from rock and from tree, 
’Tis time to arouse thee, love, Anna Marie. 


IVANHOE 

Wamba. 


421 


O Tybalt, love, Tybalt, awake me not yet. 

Around my soft pillow while softer dreams flit. 

For what are the joys that in waking we prove, 
Compared with these visions, O, Tybalt, my love ? 
Let the birds to the rise of the mist carol shrill. 

Let the hunter blow out his loud horn on the hill. 
Softer sounds, softer pleasures, in slumber I prove, — 
But think not I dreamt of thee, Tybalt, my love. 


^ A dainty song/ said Wamba, when they had finished their 
carol, ^ and I swear by my bauble, a pretty moral ! I used to 
sing it with Gurth, once my playfellow, and now, by the grace 
of God and his master, no less than a freeman; and we once 
came by the cudgel for being so entranced by the melody that 
we lay in bed two hours after sunrise, singing the ditty betwixt 
sleeping and waking: my bones ache at thinking of the tune 
ever since. Nevertheless, I have played the part of Anna 
Marie to please you, fair sir.’ 

The Jester next struck into another carol, a sort of comic 
ditty, to which the Knight, catching up the tune, replied in 
the like manner. 


Knight and Wamba. 

There came three merry men from south', west, and north. 
Ever more sing the roundelay ; 

To win the Widow of Wycombe forth. 

And where was the widow might say them nay ? 

The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he came. 

Ever more sing the roundelay ; 

And his fathers, God save us, were men of great fame. 

And where was the widow might say him nay ? 

Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire, 

He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay ; 

She bade him go back by his sea-coal Are, 

For she was the widow would say him nay. 

Wamba. 

The next that came forth, swore by blood and by nails. 
Merrily sing the roundelay ; 

Hur’s a gentleman, God wot, and hur’s lineage was of Wales, 
And where was the widow might say him nay ? 

Sir David ap Morgan ap Griflath ap Hugh 
Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay ; 

She said that one widow for so many was too few, 

And she bade the Welshman wend his way. 


422 


IVANHOE 


But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent, 

Jollily singing his roundelay ; 

He spoke to the widow of living and rent. 

And where was the widow could say him nay ? 

Both. 

So the knight and the squire were both left in the mire, 

There for to sing their roundelay ; 

For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent, 

There never was a widow could say him nay. 

would, Wamba/ said the Knight, ‘that our host of the 
trysting-tree, or the jolly Friar, his chaplain, heard this thy 
ditty in praise of our bluff yeoman.^ 

‘So would not I,^ said Wamba, ‘but for the horn that 
hangs at your baldric.^ 

‘ Ay,^ said the Knight, ‘ this is a pledge of Locksley’s good- 
will, though I am not like to need it. Three mots on this 
bugle will, I am assured, bring round, at our need, a jolly band 
of yonder honest yeomen.’ 

‘ I would say. Heaven forefend,’ said the J ester, ‘ were it 
not that that fair gift is a pledge they would let us pass 
peaceably.’ 

‘ Why, what meanest thou ? ’ said the Knight ; ‘ thinkest 
thou that but for this pledge of fellowship they would assault 
us? ’ 

‘ Kay, for me I say nothing,’ said Wamba ; ‘ for green trees 
have ears as well as stone walls. But canst thou construe me 
this. Sir Knight? When is thy wine-pitcher and thy purse 
better empty than full ? ’ 

‘ Why, never, I think,’ replied the Knight. 

‘ Thou never deservest to have a full one in thy hand, for so 
simple an answer! Thou hadst best empty thy pitcher ere 
thou pass it to a Saxon, and leave thy money at home ere thou 
walk in the greenwood.’ 

‘ You hold our friends for robbers, tlien ? ’ said the Knight 
of the Fetterlock. 

‘ You hear me not say so, fair sir,’ said Wamba. ‘ It may 
relieve a man’s steed to take off his mail when he hath a long 
journey to make; and, certes, it may do good to the rider’s 
soul to ease him of that which is the root of evil ; therefore 
will I give no hard names to those who do such services. Only 
I would wish my mail at home, and my purse in my chamber, 
when I meet with these good fellows, because it might save 
them some trouble.’ 


IVANHOE 


423 


* \Ye are bound to pray for them, my friend, notwithstand- 
ing the fair character thou dost afford them/ 

‘Pray for them with all my heart,’ said Wamba; ‘but in 
the town, not in the greenwood, like the abbot of St. Bee’s, 
whom they caused to say mass with an old hollow oak-tree for 
his stall.’ 

‘ Say as thou list, Wamba,’ replied the Knight, ‘ these yeo- 
men did thy master Cedric yeomanly service at Torquilstone.’ 

‘ Ay, truly,’ answered Wamha ; ‘ but that was in the fashion 
of their trade with Heaven.’ 

‘ Their trade, Wamba ! how mean you by that ? ’ replied his 
companion. 

‘ Marry, thus,’ said the Jester. ‘ They make up a balanced 
account with Heaven, as our old cellarer used to call his 
ciphering, as fair as Isaac the Jew keeps with his debtors, and, 
like him, give out a very little, and take large credit for doing 
so; reckoning, doubtless, on their own behalf the sevenfold 
usury which the blessed text hath promised to charitable 
loans.’ 

‘ Give me an example of your meaning, Wamba ; I know 
nothing of ciphers or rates of usage,’ answered the Knight. 

‘ Why,’ said Wamba, ‘ an your valour be so dull, you will 
please to learn that those honest fellows balance a good deed 
with one not quite so laudable, as a crown given to a begging 
friar with an hundred byzants taken from a fat abbot, or a 
wench kissed in the greenwood with the relief of a poor 
widow.’ 

‘ Which of these was the good deed, which was the felony ? ’ 
interrupted the Knight. 

‘ A good gibe ! a good gibe ! ’ said Wamba ; ‘ keeping witty 
company sharpeneth the apprehension. You said nothing so 
well. Sir Knight, I will be sworn, when you held drunken 
vespers with the bluff hermit. But to go on. — The merry men 
of the forest set off the building of a cottage with the burning 
of a castle, the thatching of a choir against the robbing of a 
church, the setting free a poor prisoner against the murder of 
a proud sheriff, or, to come nearer to our point, the deliverance 
of a Saxon franklin against the burning alive of a Korman 
baron. Gentle thieves they are, in short, and courteous rob- 
bers ; but it is ever the luckiest to meet with them when they 
are at the worst.’ 

‘ How so, Wamba ? ’ said the Knight. 


434 


IVANHOE 


^ Why, then they have some compunction, and are for 
making up matters with Heaven. But when they have struck 
an even balance, Heaven help them with whom they next open 
the account! The travellers who first met them after their 
good service at Torquilstone would have a woeful flaying. 
And yet,’ said Wamba, coming close up to the Knight’s side, 
^ there be companions who are far more dangerous for trav- 
ellers to meet than yonder outlaws.’ 

'And who may they be, for you have neither bears nor 
wolves, I trow ? ’ said the Knight. 

'Marry, sir, but we have Malvoisin’s men-at-arms,’ said 
Wamba ; ' and let me tell you that, in time of civil war, a 
halfscore of these is worth a band of wolves at any time. They 
are now expecting their harvest, and are reinforced with the 
soldiers that escaped from Torquilstone; so that, should we 
meet with a band of them, we are like to pay for our feats of 
arms. Now, I pray you. Sir Knight, what would you do if we 
met two of them ? ’ 

' Pin the villains to the earth with my lance, Wamba, if they 
offered us any impediment.’ 

' But what if there were four of them ? ’ 

' They should drink of the same cup,’ answered the Knight. 

' What if six,’ continued Wamba, ' and we as we now are, 
barely two ; would you not remember Locksley’s horn ? ’ 

' What ! sound for aid,’ exclaimed the Knight, ' against a 
score of such rascaille as these, whom one good knight could 
drive before him, as the wind drives the withered leaves ? ’ 

' Nay, then,’ said Wamba, ' I will pray you for a close sight 
of that same horn that hath so powerful a breath.’ 

The Knight undid the clasp of the baldric, and indulged 
his fellow-traveller, who immediately hung the bugle round 
his own neck. 

' Tra-lira-la,’ he said, whistling the notes ; ' nay, I know my 
gamut as well as another.’ 

' How mean you, knave ? ’ said the Knight; ' restore me the 
bugle.’ 

'Content you. Sir Knight, it is in safe keeping. When 
valour and folly travel, folly should bear the horn, because 
she can blow the best.’ 

' Nay but, rogue,’ said the Black Knight, ' this exceedeth 
thy license. Beware ye tamper not with my patience.’ 

' Urge me not with violence. Sir Knight,’ said the Jester, 


IVANHOE 


425 


keeping at a distance from the impatient champion, ^ or folly 
will show a clean pair of heels, and leave valour to find out his 
way through the wood as best he may/ 

" Nay, thou hast hit me there,’ said the Knight ; ^ and, sooth 
to say, I have little time to jangle with the6. Keep the horn 
an thou wilt, but let us proceed on our journey/ 

^ You will not harm me, then?’ said Wamba. 

^ I tell thee no, thou knave ! ’ 

^ Ay, hut pledge me your knightly word for it,’ continued 
Wamba, as he approached with great caution. 

^ My knightly word I pledge ; only come on with thy foolish 
self.’ 

^ Nay, then, valour and folly are once more boon compan- 
ions,’ said the Jester, coming up frankly to the Knight’s side; 
^ but, in truth, I love not such buffets as that you bestowed on 
the burly Friar, when his holiness rolled on the green like a 
king of the nine-pins. And now that folly wears the horn, let 
valour rouse himself and shake his mane ; for, if I mistake not, 
there are company in yonder brake that are on the look-out 
for us.’ 

‘ What makes thee judge so? ’ said the Knight. 

^Because I have twice or thrice noticed the glance of a 
morrion from amongst the green leaves. Had they been 
honest men, they had kept the path. But yonder thicket is a 
choice chapel for the clerks of St. Nicholas.’ 

^ By my faith,’ said the Knight, closing his visor, ^ I think 
thou be’st in the right on’t.’ 

And in good time did he close it, for three arrows fiew at the 
same instant from the suspected spot against his head and 
breast, one of which would have penetrated to the brain, had it 
not been turned aside by the steel visor. The other two were 
averted by the gorget, and by the shield which hung around 
his neck. 

^ Thanks, trusty armourer,’ said the Knight. ^ Wamba, let 
us close with them,’ and he rode straight to the thicket. He 
was met by six or seven men-at-arms, who ran against him 
with their lances at full career. Three of the weapons struck 
against him, and splintered with as little effect as if they had 
been driven against a tower of steel. The Black Knight’s 
eyes seemed to fiash fire even through the aperture of his visor. 
He raised himself in his stirrups with an air of inexpressible 
dignity, and exclaimed, ^ What means this, my masters ! ’ The 


426 


IVANHOE 


men made no other reply than by drawing their swords and 
attacking him on every side, crying, ‘ Die, tyrant ! ’ 

^ Ha ! St. Edward ! Ha ! St. George ! ’ said the Black 
Knight, striking down a man at every invocation ; ^ have we 
traitors here?^ 

‘ His opponents, desperate as they were, bore back from an 
arm which carried death in every blow, and it seemed as if the 
terror of his single strength was about to gain the battle 
against such odds, when a knight, in blue armour, who had 
hitherto kept himself behind the other assailants, spurred for- 
ward with his lance, and taking aim, not at the rider but at 
the steed, wounded the noble animal mortally. 

‘ That was a felon stroke ! ^ exclaimed the Black Knight, as 
the steed fell to the earth, bearing his rider along with him. 

And at this moment Wamba winded the bugle, for the 
whole had passed so speedily that he had not time to do so 
sooner. The sudden sound made the murderers bear back once 
more, and Wamba, though so imperfectly weaponed, did not 
hesitate to rush in and assist the Black Knight to rise. 

‘ Shame on ye, false cowards ! ’ exclaimed he in the blue 
harness, who seemed to lead the assailants, ^ do ye fly from 
the empty blasts of a horn blown by a jester? ^ 

Animated by his words, they attacked the Black Knight 
anew, whose best refuge was now to place his back against an 
oak, and defend himself with his sword. The felon knight, 
who had taken another spear, watching the moment when his 
formidable antagonist was most closely pressed, galloped 
against him in hopes to nail him with, his lance against the 
tree, when his purpose was again intercepted by Wamba. 
The Jester, making up by agility the want of strength, and lit- 
tle noticed by the men-at-arms, who were busied in their more 
important object, hovered on the skirts of the fight, and ef- 
fectually checked the fatal career of the Blue Knight, by ham- 
stringing his horse with a stroke of his sword. Horse and 
man went to the ground; yet the situation of the Knight of 
the Fetterlock continued very precarious, as he was pressed 
close by several men completely armed, and began to be 
fatigued by the violent exertions necessary to defend himself 
on so many points at nearly the same moment, when a grey- 
goose shaft suddenly stretched on the earth one of the most 
formidable of his assailants, and a band of yeomen broke forth 
from the glade, headed by Locksley and the jovial Friar, who. 


IVANHOE 


427 


taking ready and effectual part in the fray, soon disposed of 
the ruffians, all of whom lay on the spot dead or mortally 
wounded. The Black Knight thanked his deliverers with a 
dignity they had not observed in his former bearing, which 
hitherto had seemed rather that of a blunt, bold soldier than 
of a person of exalted rank. 

‘ It concerns me much,’ he said, ‘ even before I express my 
full gratitude to my ready friends, to discover, if I may, who 
have been my unprovoked enemies. Open the visor of that 
Blue Knight, Wamba, who seems the chief of these vil- 
lains.’ 

The Jester instantly made up to the leader of the assassins, 
who, bruised by his fall, and entangled under the wounded 
steed, lay incapable either of flight or resistance. 

^ Come, valiant sir,’ said Wamba, ^ I must be your armourer 
as well as your equerry. I have dismounted you, and now I 
will unhelm you.’ 

So saying, with no very gentle hand he undid the helmet of 
the Blue Knight, which, rolling to a distance on the grass, 
displayed to the Knight of the Fetterlock grizzled locks, and a 
countenance he did not expect to have seen under such circum- 
stances. 

^ Waldemar Fitzurse ! ’ he said in astonishment; ^ what could 
urge one of thy rank and seeming worth to so foul an under- 
taking ? ’ 

^ Eichard,’ said the captive knight, looking up to him, ^ thou 
knowest little of mankind, if thou knowest not to what ambi- 
tion and revenge can lead every child of Adam.’ 

^ Eevenge ! ’ answered the Black Knight ; ‘ I never wronged 
thee. On me thou hast nought to revenge.’ 

^ My daughter, Eichard, whose alliance thou didst scorn — 
was that no injury to a Korman, whose blood is noble as thine 
own? ’ 

^ Thy daughter ! ’ replied the Black Knight. ^ A proper 
cause of enmity, and followed up to a bloody issue! Stand 
back, my masters, I would speak to him alone. And now, 
Waldemar Fitzurse, say me the truth : confess who set thee on 
this traitorous deed.’ 

^ Thy father’s son,’ answered Waldemar, ' who, in so doing, 
did but avenge on thee thy disobedience to thy father.’ 

Eichard’s eyes sparkled with indignation, but his better 
nature overcame it. He pressed his hand against his brow, 


428 


IVANHOE 


and remained an instant gazing on the face of the humbled 
baron, in whose features pride was contending with shame. 

^Thou dost not ask thy life, Waldemar?’ said the King. 

^ He that is in the lion’s clutch,’ answered Fitzurse, ^ knows 
it were needless.’ 

^ Take it, then, unasked,’ said Eichard ; ^ the lion preys not 
on prostrate carcasses. Take thy life, but with this condition,, 
that in three days thou shalt leave England, and go to hide 
thine infamy in thy Norman castle, and that thou wilt never 
mention the name of John of Anjou as connected with thy 
felony. If thou art found on English ground after the space 
I have allotted thee, thou diest ; or if thou breathest aught that 
can attaint the honour of my house, by St. George ! not the 
altar itself shall be a sanctuary. I will hang thee out to feed 
the ravens from the very pinnacle of thine own castle. Let 
this knight have a steed, Loeksley, for I see your yeomen have 
caught those which were running loose, and let him depart 
unharmed.’ 

^But that I judge I listen to a voice whose behests must 
not be disputed,’ answered the yeoman, ^ I would send a shaft 
after the skulking villain that should spare him the labour of 
a long journey.’ 

‘ Thou bearest an English heart, Loeksley,’ said the Black 
Knight, ^ and well dost judge thou art the more bound to obey 
my behest : I am Eichard of England ! ’ 

At these words, pronounced in a tone of majesty suited to 
the high rank, and no less distinguished character, of Cceur- 
de-Lion, the yeomen at once kneeled down before him, and 
at the same time tendered their allegiance, and implored 
pardon for their offences. 

^ Eise, my friends,’ said Eichard, in a gracious tone, looking 
on them with a countenance in which his habitual good- 
humour had already conquered the blaze of hasty resentment, 
and whose features retained no mark of the late desperate 
conflict, excepting the flush arising from exertion — ^ arise,’ he 
said, ^my friends! Your misdemeanours, whether in forest 
or fleld, have been atoned by the loyal services you rendered 
my distressed subjects before the walls of Torquilstone, and 
the rescue you have this day afforded to your sovereign. 
Arise, my liegemen, and be good subjects in future. And 
thou, brave Loeksley 

^ Call me no longer Loeksley, my Liege, but know me under 


IVANHOE 


429 


the name which, I fear, fame hath blown too widely not to 
have reached even your royal ears : I am Eobin Hood of Sher- 
wood Forest.’ * 

^ King of outlaws, and Prince of good fellows ! ’ said the 
King, ^ who hath not heard a name that has been borne as far 
as Palestine ? But be assured, brave outlaw, that no deed done 
in our absence, and in the turbulent times to which it hath 
given rise, shall be remembered to thy disadvantage.’’ 

^ True says the proverb,’ said Wamba, interposing his word, 
but with some abatement of his usual petulance — 

“ When the cat is away, 

The mice will play.” 

^What, Wamba, art thou there?’ said Eichard; ‘1 have 
been so long of hearing thy voice, I thought thou hadst taken 
flight.’ 

^ I take flight ! ’ said Wamba; ^ when do you ever find folly 
separated from valour? There lies the trophy of my sword, 
that good grey gelding, whom I heartily wish upon his legs 
again, conditioning his master lay there houghed in his place. 
It is true, I gave a little ground at first, for a motley jacket 
does not brook lance-heads as a steel doublet will. But if I 
fought not sword’s point, you will grant me that I sounded 
the onset.’ 

^And to good purpose, honest Wamba,’ replied the King. 
^ Thy good service shall not be forgotten.’ 

' Confiteor! confiteor!' exclaimed, in a submissive tone, a 
voice near the King’s side; ^my Latin will carry me no 
farther, but I confess my deadly treason, and pray leave to 
have absolution before I am led to execution ! ’ 

Eichard looked around, and beheld the jovial Friar on his 
knees, telling his rosary, while his quarter-staff, which had not 
been idle during the skirmish, lay on the grass beside him. 
His countenance was gathered so as he thought might best 
express the most profound contrition, his eyes being turned 
up, and the corners of his mouth drawn down, as Wamba 
expressed it, like the tassels at the mouth of a purse. Yet 
this demure affectation of extreme penitence was whimsically 
belied by a ludicrous meaning which lurked in his huge 
features, and seemed to pronounce his fear and repentance 
alike hypocritical. 


* See Locksley. Note 26. 


430 


IVANHOE 


^ For what art thou cast down, mad priest ? ^ said Kichard ; 
^art thou afraid thy diocesan should learn how truly thou 
dost serve Our Lady and St. Dunstan? Tush, man! fear it 
not ; Eichard of England betrays no secrets that pass over the 
flagon.’ 

‘ Nay, most gracious sovereign,’ answered the hermit, well 
known to the curious in penny histories of Eobin Hood by the 
name of Friar Tuck, ^it is not the crosier I fear, but the 
sceptre. Alas I that my sacrilegious fist should ever have been 
applied to the ear of the Lord’s anointed ! ’ 

^ Ha ! ha ! ’ said Eichard, ^ sits the wind there ? In truth, I 
had forgotten the buffet, though mine ear sung after it for a 
whole day. But if the cuff was fairly given, I will be judged 
by the good men around, if it was not as well repaid; or, if 
thou thinkest I still owe thee aught, and will stand forth for 
another counterbuff ’ 

^ By no means,’ replied Friar Tuck, ^ I had mine own re- 
turned, and with usury: may your Majesty ever pay your 
debts as fully I ’ 

^ If I could do so with cuffs,’ said the King, ‘ my creditors 
should have little reason to complain of an empty exchequer.’ 

^ And yet,’ said the Friar, resuming his demure, hypocritical 
countenance, ^ I know not what penance I ought to perform for 
that most sacrilegious blow 1 ’ 

^ Speak no more of it, brother,’ said the King ; ^ after having 
stood so many cuffs from paynims and misbelievers, I were 
void of reason to quarrel with the buffet of a clerk so holy as 
he of Copmanhurst. Yet, mine honest Friar, I think it would 
be best both for the church and thyself that I should procure 
a license to unfrock thee, and retain thee as a yeoman of our 
guard, serving in care of our person, as formerly in attendance 
upon the altar of St. Dunstan.’ 

^ My Liege,’ said the Friar, ‘ I humbly crave your pardon ; 
and you would readily grant my excuse, did you but know how 
the sin of laziness has beset me. St. Dunstan — may he be 
gracious to us ! — stands quiet in his niche, though I should 
forget my orisons in killing a fat buck ; I stay out of my cell 
sometimes a night, doing I wot not what — St. Dunstan never 
complains — a quiet master he is, and a peaceful, as ever was 
made of wood. But to be a yeoman in attendance on my 
sovereign the King — the honour is great, doubtless — yet, if I 
Tvere but to step aside to comfort a widow in one corner, or to 


IVANHOE 


431 


kill a deer in another, it would be, Wliere is the dog priest ? ’’ 
says one. Who has seen the accursed Tuck ? says another. 

The unfrocked villain destroys more venison than half the 
country besides,” says one keeper ; And is hunting after 
every shy doe in the country ! ” quoth a second. In fine, good 
my Liege, I pray you to leave me as you found me ; or, if in 
aught you desire to extend your benevolence to me, that I 
may be considered as the poor clerk of St. Dunstan’s cell 
in Copmanhurst, to whom any small donation will be most 
thankfully acceptable.^ 

‘ I understand thee,’ said the King, ^ and the holy clerk 
shall have a grant of vert and venison in my woods of Wharn- 
cliffe. Mark, how’ever, I will but assign thee three bucks every 
season ; but if that do not prove an apology for thy slaying 
thirty, I am no Christian knight nor true king.’ 

‘Your Grace may be well assured,’ said the Friar, ‘that, 
with the grace of St. Dunstan, I shall find the way of multi- 
plying your most bounteous gift.’ 

‘I nothing doubt it, good brother,’ said the King; ‘and 
as venison is but dry food, our cellarer shall have orders to 
deliver to thee a butt of sack, a runlet of Malvoisie, and three 
hogsheads of ale of the first strike, yearly. If that will not 
quench thy thirst, thou must come' to court, and become 
acquainted with my butler.’ 

‘ But for St. Dunstan ? ’ said the Friar 

‘A cope, a stole, and an altar-cloth shalt thou also have,’ 
continued the King, crossing himself. ‘ But we may not turn 
our game into earnest, lest God punish us for thinking more 
on our follies than on His honour and worship.’ 

‘ I will answer for my patron,’ said the priest, joyously. 

‘ Answer for thyself. Friar,’ said King Eichard, something 
sternly; but immediately stretching out his hand to the her- 
mit, the latter, somewhat abashed, bent his knee, and saluted 
it. ‘ Thou dost less honour to my extended palm than to my 
clenched fist,’ said the monarch ; ‘ thou didst only kneel to the 
one, and to the other didst prostrate thyself.’ 

But the Friar, afraid perhaps of again giving offence by 
continuing the conversation in too jocose a style — a false step 
to be particularly guarded against by those who converse with 
monarchs — bowed profoundly, and fell into the rear. 

At the same time, two additional personages appeared on 
the scene. 


432 


lYANHOE 


COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

Another day must elapse before the combat. Scott takes the occasion 
to resume the threads of the narrative dropped some way back. After the 
fall of Torquilstone (Chapter XXXI), Ivanhoe was conveyed by Gnrth 
and Wamba to the Priory of St. Botolph (i.e. Botolphs-town, now Boston 
in I^incolnshire). The Black Knight, after taking leave of X/Ocksley 
(Chapter XXXIII) with the intimation that Knight and Outlaw will soon 
meet without disguise, also made his way to the same religious house. 
The Black Knight, setting out with Wamba for Coningsburgh Castle 
to attend the funeral of Athelstane, is attacked by Waldemar and his 
party, who had been sent out from York by John (Chapter XXXIV), 
and is rescued by Bocksley and his merry men, who we may suppose 
were on the watch that no harm should come to the Black Knight. The 
characters are thus naturally brought together ; and the varied wood- 
land scene that follows, with its foolery and spirited action, is altogether 
admirable. Study especially the character of the Black Knight, ob- 
serving also the new sidelights thrown upon Ivanhoe, Wamba, I^ocks- 
ley, and the Clerk of Copmanhurst. 

Do the characters hitherto disguised reveal themselves naturally ? 

Why is Ivanhoe impatient to follow the Black Knight ? 

Why does the Prior hesitate to give Malkin to Ivanhoe ? 

What does Wamba mean by saying that the jolly outlaws balance 
deed against deed ? 

Notice the device by which Scott transfers the horn from the Black 
Knight to Wamba.— Why is the transfer necessary at all ? 

What part does Wamba play in the fight ? 

Who is the Knight in blue armour? And what chivalrous treatment 
does he receive from the Black Knight ? 

Why is Friar Tuck unwilling to become a yeoman of the King’s 
guard ? 

What reward does he receive from Richard ? 


CHAPTER XLI 


All hail to the lordlings of high degree, 

Who live not more happy, though greater than we ! 

Our pastimes to see. 

Under every green tree. 

In all the gay woodland, right welcome ye he. 

Macdonald. 

The new-comers were Wilfred of Ivanhoe, on the prior of 
Botolph’s palfrey, and Gurth, who attended him, on the 
knight’s own war-horse. The astonishment of Ivanhoe was 
heyond bounds when he saw his master besprinkled with blood, 
and six or seven dead bodies lying around in the little glade in 
which the battle had taken place. Nor was he less surprised 
to see Eichard surrounded by so many silvan attendants, the 
outlaws, as they seemed to be, of the forest, and a perilous 
retinue therefore for a prince. He hesitated whether to ad- 
dress the King as the Black Knight-errant, or in what other 
manner to demean himself towards him. Eichard saw his 
embarrassment. 

^Fear not, Wilfred,’ he said, ^to address Eichard Planta- 
genet as himself, since thou seest him in the company of true 
English hearts, although it may be they have been urged a few 
steps aside by warm English blood.’ 

^ Sir Wilfred of Ivanhoe,’ said the gallant outlaw, stepping 
forward, ^ my assurances can add nothing to those of our sov- 
ereign; yet, let me say somewhat proudly, that of men who 
have suffered much, he hath not truer subjects than those who 
now stand around him.’ 

cannot doubt it, brave man,’ said Wilfred, ^ since thou 
art of the number. But what mean these marks of death 
and danger — these slain men, and the bloody armour of my 
Prince ? ’ 

^ Treason hath been with us, Ivanhoe,’ said the King; ^ but, 
thanks to these brave men, treason hath met its meed. But, 
now I bethink me, thou too art a traitor,’ said Eichard, smil- 
ing — ^a most disobedient traitor; for were not our orders 

433 


434 IVANHOE 

positive that thou shouldst repose thyself at St. Botolph’s until 
thy wound was healed ? ^ 

^ It is healed/ said Ivanhoe — ^ it is not of more consequence 
than the scratch of a bodkin. But why — oh why, noble Prince, 
will you thus vex the hearts of your faithful servants, and 
expose your life by lonely journeys and rash adventures, as if 
it were of no more value than that of a mere knight-errant, 
who has no interest on earth but what lance and sword may 
procure him ? ^ 

^ And Eichard Plantagenet/ said the King, ^ desires no more 
fame than his good lance and sword may acquire him; and 
Eichard Plantagenet is prouder of achieving an adventure, 
with only his good sword, and his good arm to speed, than if 
he led to battle an host of an hundred thousand armed men.^ 

^ But your kingdom, my Liege/ said Ivanhoe — ^ your king- 
dom is threatened with dissolution and civil war; your sub- 
jects menaced with every species of evil, if deprived of their 
sovereign in some of those dangers which it is your daily pleas- 
ure to incur, and from which you have but this moment 
narrowly escaped.’ 

‘ Ho ! ho ! my kingdom and my subjects ! ’ answered Eich- 
ard, impatiently; ^ I tell thee. Sir Wilfred, the best of them are 
most willing to repay my follies in kind. For example, my 
very faithful servant, Wilfred of Ivanhoe, will not obey my 
positive commands, and yet reads his king a homily, because 
he does not walk exactly by his advice. Which of us has most 
reason to upbraid the other? Yet forgive me, my faithful 
Wilfred. The time I have spent, and am yet to spend, in con- 
cealment is, as I explained to thee at St. Botolph’s, necessary 
to give my friends and faithful nobles time to assemble their 
forces, that, when Eichard’s return is announced, he should be 
at the head of such a force as enemies shall tremble to face, 
and thus subdue the meditated treason, without even un- 
sheathing a sword. Estoteville and Bohun will not be strong 
enough to move forward to York for twenty-four hours. I 
must have news of Salisbury from the south, and of Beau- 
champ in Warwickshire, and of Multon and Percy in the 
north. The Chancellor must make sure of London. Too sud- 
den an appearance would subject me to dangers other than my 
lance and sword, though backed by the bow of bold Eobin, or 
the quarter-staff of Friar Tuck, and the horn of the sage 
Wamba, may be able to rescue me from.’ 


IVANHOE 


435 


Wilfred bowed in submission, well knowing how vain it was 
to contend with the wild spirit of chivalry which so often im- 
pelled his master upon dangers which he might easily have 
avoided, or rather, which it was unpardonable in him to have 
sought out. The young knight sighed, therefore, and held his 
peace; while Eichard, rejoiced at having silenced his coun- 
sellor, though his heart acknowledged the justice of the charge 
he had brought against him, went on in conversation with 
Eobin Hood. ^ King of outlaws,^ he said, ^have you no re- 
freshment to offer to your brother sovereign? for these dead 
knaves have found me both in exercise and appetite.’ 

^ In troth,’ replied the outlaw, ^ for I scorn to lie to your 

Grace, our larder is chiefly supplied with ’ He stopped, 

and was somewhat embarrassed. 

^With venison, I suppose?’ said Eichard, gaily; ^better 
food at need there can be none ; and truly, if a king will not 
remain at home and slay his own game, methinks he should 
not brawl too loud if he flnds it killed to his hand.’ 

"^If your Grace, then,’ said Eobin^ ^ will again honour with 
your presence one of Eobin Hood’s places of rendezvous, the 
venison shall not be lacking ; and a stoup of ale, and it may be 
a cup of reasonably good wine, to relish it withal.’ 

The outlaw accordingly led the way, followed by the buxom 
monarch, more happy, probably, in this chance meeting with 
Eobin Hood and his foresters than he would have been in 
again assuming his royal state, and presiding over a splendid 
circle of peers and nobles. Novelty in society and adventure 
were the zest of life to Eichard Cceur-de-Lion, and it had its 
highest relish when enhanced by dangers encountered and sur- 
mounted. In the lion-hearted king, the brilliant, but useless, 
character of a knight of romance was in a great measure 
realised and revived; and the personal glory which he ac- 
quired by his own deeds of arms was far more dear to his ex- 
cited imagination than that which a course of policy and wis- 
dom would have spread around his government. Accordingly, 
his reign was like the course of a brilliant and rapid meteor, 
which shoots along the face of heaven, shedding around an 
unnecessary and portentous light, which is instantly swallowed 
up by universal darkness; his feats of chivalry furnishing 
themes for bards and minstrels, but affording none of those 
solid benefits to his country on which history loves to pause, 
and hold up as an example to posterity. But in his present 


436 


IVANHOE 


company Kichard showed to the greatest imaginable advan- 
tage. He was gay, good-hnmonred, and fond of manhood in 
every rank of life. 

Beneath a huge oak-tree the silvan repast was hastily pre- 
pared for the King of England, surrounded by men outlaws 
to his government, but who now formed his court and his 
guard. As the flagon went round, the rough foresters soon 
lost their awe for the presence of Majesty. The song and the 
jest were exchanged, the stories of former deeds were told with 
advantage; and at length, and while boasting of their suc- 
cessful infraction of the laws, no one recollected they were 
speaking in presence of their natural guardian. The merry 
king, nothing heeding his dignity any more than his company, 
laughed, quaffed, and jested among the jolly band. The 
natural and rough sense of Eobin Hood led him to be desirous 
that the scene should be closed ere anything should occur to 
disturb its harmony, the more especially that he observed 
Ivanhoe’s brow clouded with anxiety. ‘ We are honoured,^ he 
said to Ivanhoe, apart, ^ by the presence of our gallant sov- 
ereign; yet I would not that he dallied with time which the 
circumstances of his kingdom may render precious.’ 

‘ It is well and wisely spoken, brave Eobin Hood,’ said Wil- 
fred, apart; ^and know, moreover, that they who jest with 
Majesty, even in its gayest mood, are but toying with the 
lion’s whelp, which, on slight provocation, us.es both fangs and 
claws.’ 

^ You have touched the very cause of my fear,’ said the 
outlaw. ^ My men are rough by practice and nature ; the King 
is hasty as well as good-humoured ; nor know I how soon cause 
of offence may arise, or how warmly it may be received; it is 
time this revel were broken off.’ 

^It must be by your management then, gallant yeoman,’ 
said Ivanhoe ; ^ for each hint I have essayed to give him serves 
only to induce him to prolong it.’ 

^Must I so soon risk the pardon and favour of my sov- 
ereign ? ’ said Eobin Hood, pausing for an instant ; ^ but, by 
St. Christopher, it shall be so. I were undeserving his grace 
did I not peril it for his good. Here, Scathlock, get thee be- 
hind yonder thicket, and wind me a Norman blast on thy 
bugle, and without an instant’s delay, on peril of your life.’ 

Scathlock obeyed his captain, and in less than flve minutes 
the revellers were startled by the sound of his horn. 


lYANHOE 


437 


^It is the bugle of Malvoisin/ said the Miller, starting to 
his feet, and seizing his bow. The Friar dropped the flagon, 
and grasped his quarter-staff. Wamba stopt short in the midst 
of a jest, and betook himself to sword and target. All the 
others stood to their weapons. 

‘ Men of their precarious course of life change readily from 
the banquet to the battle; and to Kichard the exchange 
seemed but a succession of pleasure. He called for his helmet 
and the most cumbrous parts of his armour, which he had 
laid aside ; and while Gurth was putting them on, he laid his 
strict injunctions on Wilfred, under pain of his highest dis- 
pleasure, not to engage in the skirmish which he supposed was 
approaching. 

^ Thou hast fought for me an hundred times, Wilfred, and 
I have seen it. Thou shalt this day look on, and see how 
Eichard will flght for his friend and liegeman.^ 

In the meantime, Eobin Hood had sent off several of his 
followers in different directions, as if to reconnoitre the 
enemy ; and when he saw the company effectually broken up, 
he approached Eichard, who was now completely armed, and, 
kneeling down on one knee, craved pardon of his sovereign. 

^ For what, good yeoman ? ^ said Eichard, somewhat im- 
patiently. ^ Have we not already granted thee a full pardon 
for all transgressions? Thinkest thou pur word is a feather, 
to be blown backward and forward between us ? Thou canst 
not have had time to commit any new offence since that time ? ^ 

^ Ay, but I have though,’ answered the yeoman, ‘ if it be an 
offence to deceive my prince for his own advantage. The bugle 
you have heard was none of Malvoisin’s, but blown by my 
direction, to break off the banquet, lest it trenched upon hours 
of dearer import than to be thus dallied with.’ 

He then rose from his knee, folded his arms on his bosom, 
and, in a manner rather respectful than submissive, awaited 
the answer of the King, like one who is conscious he may have 
given offence, yet is confldent in the rectitude of his motive. 
The blood rushed in anger to the countenance of Eichard ; but 
it was the first transient emotion, and his sense of justice in- 
stantly subdued it. 

^ The King of Sherwood,’ he said, ^ grudges his venison and 
his wine-flask to the King of England! It is well, bold 
Eobin ! but when you come to see me in merry London, I trust 
to be a less niggard host. Thou art right, however, good fel- 


438 


IVANHOE 


low. Let us therefore to horse and away. Wilfred has been 
impatient this hour. Tell me, bold Kobin, hast thou never a 
friend in thy band, who, not content with advising, will needs 
direct thy motions, and look miserable when thou dost presume 
to act for thyself ? ’ 

^ Such a one,^ said Eobin, ^ is my lieutenant. Little J ohn, 
who is even now absent on an expedition as far as the borders 
of Scotland ; and I will own to your Majesty that I am some- 
times displeased by the freedom of his counsels ; but, when I 
think twice, I cannot be long angry with one who can have no 
motive for his anxiety save zeal for his master’s service.’ 

Thou art right, good yeoman,’ answered Eichard ; ^ and if 
I had Ivanhoe, on the one hand, to give grave advice, and 
recommend it by the sad gravity of his brow, and thee, on the 
other, to trick me into what thou thinkest my own good, I 
should have as little the freedom of mine own will as any king 
in Christendom or Heathenesse. But come, sirs, let us merrily 
on to Coningsburgh, and think no more on’t.’ 

Eobin Hood assured them that he had detached a party in 
the direction of the road they were to pass, who would not 
fail to discover and apprise them of any secret ambuscade ; and 
that he had little doubt they would find the ways secure, or, 
if otherwise, would receive such timely notice of the danger as 
would enable them to fall back on a strong troop of archers, 
with which he himself proposed to follow on the same route. 

The wise and attentive precautions adopted for his safety 
touched Eichard’s feelings, and removed any slight grudge 
which he might retain on account of the deception the outlaw 
captain had practised upon him. He once more extended his 
hand to Eobin Hood, assured him of his full pardon and 
future favour, as well as his firm resolution to restrain the 
tyrannical exercise of the forest rights and other oppressive 
laws, by which so many English yeomen were driven into a 
state of rebellion. But Eichard’s good intentions towards the 
bold outlaw were frustrated by the King’s untimely death; 
and the Charter of the Forest was extorted from the unwilling 
hands of King John when he succeeded to his heroic brother. 
As for the rest of Eobin Hood’s career, as well as the tale of 
his treacherous death, they are to be found in those black- 
letter garlands, once sold at the low and easy rate of one 
halfpenny — 

Now cheaply purchased at their weight in gold. 


IVANHOE 


439 


The outlaw’s opinion proved true ; and the King, attended 
by Ivanhoe, Gurth, and Wamba, arrived without any interrup- 
tion within view of the Castle of Coningsburgh, while the sun 
was yet in the horizon. 

There are few more beautiful or striking scenes in England 
than are presented by the vicinity of this ancient Saxon fort- 
ress. The soft and gentle river Don sweeps through an am- 
phitheatre, in which cultivation is richly blended with wood- 
land, and on a mount ascending from the river, well defended 
by walls and ditches, rises this ancient edifice, which, as its 
Saxon name implies, was, previous to the Conquest, a royal 
residence of the kings of England. The outer walls have 
probably been added by the Kormans, but the inner keep bears 
token of very great antiquity. It is situated on a mount at one 
angle of the inner court, and forms a complete circle of per- 
haps twenty-five feet in diameter. The wall is of immense 
thickness, and is propped or defended by six huge external 
buttresses, which project from the circle, and rise up against 
the sides of the tower as if to strengthen or to support it. 
These massive buttresses are solid when they arise from the 
foundation, and a good way higher up; but are hollowed out 
towards the top, and terminate in a sort of turrets communi- 
cating with the interior of the keep .itself. The distant ap- 
pearance of this huge building, with these singular accom- 
paniments, is as interesting to the lovers of the picturesque 
as the interior of the castle is to the eager antiquary, whose 
imagination it carries back to the days of the Heptarchy. A 
barrow, in the vicinity of the castle, is pointed out as the tomb 
of the memorable Hengist; and various monuments, of great 
antiquity and curiosity, are shown in the neighbouring church- 
yard.* 

When Coeur-de-Lion and his retinue approached this rude 
yet stately building, it was not, as at present, surrounded by 
external fortifications. The Saxon architect had exhausted his 
art in rendering the main keep defensible, and there was no 
other circumvallation than a rude barrier of palisades. 

A huge black banner, which floated from the top of the 
tower, announced that the obsequies of the late owner were 
still in the act of being solemnised. It bore no emblem of the 
deceased’s birth or quality, for armorial bearings were then a 
novelty among the Korman chivalry themselves, and were 
* See Castle of Coningsburgh. Note 27. 


440 


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totally unknown to the Saxons. But above the gate was 
another banner, on which the figure of a white horse, rudely 
painted, indicated the nation and rank of the deceased, by 
the well-known symbol of Hengist and his Saxon warriors. 

All around the castle was a scene of busy commotion; for 
such funeral banquets were times of general and profuse 
hospitality, which not only every one who could claim the most 
distant connection with the deceased, but all passengers what- 
soever, were invited to partake. The wealth and consequence 
of the deceased Athelstane occasioned this custom to be ob- 
served in the fullest extent. 

Numerous parties, therefore, were seen ascending and de- 
scending the hill on which the castle was situated ; and when 
the King and his attendants entered the open and unguarded 
gates of the external barrier, the space within presented a 
scene not easily reconciled with the cause of the assemblage. 
In one place cooks were toiling to roast huge oxen and fat 
sheep; in another, hogsheads of ale were set abroach, to be 
drained at the freedom of all comers. Groups of every de- 
scription were to be seen devouring the food and swallowing 
the liquor thus abandoned to their discretion. The naked 
Saxon serf was drowning the sense of his half-year’s hunger 
and thirst in one day of gluttony and drunkenness ; the more 
pampered burgess and guild-brother was eating his morsel 
with gust, or curiously criticising the quantity of the malt and 
the skill of the brewer. Some few of the poorer Norman 
gentry might also be seen, distinguished by their shaven chins 
and short cloaks, and not less so by their keeping together, 
and looking with great scorn on the whole solemnity, even 
while condescending to avail themselves of the good cheer 
which was so liberally supplied. 

Mendicants were, of course, assembled by the score, together 
with strolling soldiers returned from Palestine (according to 
their own account at least) ; pedlars were displaying their 
wares ; travelling mechanics were inquiring after employment ; 
and wandering palmers, hedge-priests, Saxon minstrels, and 
Welsh bards, were muttering prayers, and extracting mis- 
tuned dirges from their harps, crowds, and rotes. One sent 
forth the praises of Athelstane in a doleful panegyric; an- 
other, in a Saxon genealogical poem, rehearsed the uncouth 
and harsh names of his noble ancestry. Jesters and jugglers 
were not awanting, nor was the occasion of the assembly sup- 


IVANHOE 


441 


posed to render the exercise of their profession indecorous or 
improper. Indeed, the ideas of the Saxons on these occasions 
were as natural as they were rude. If sorrow was thirsty, 
there was drink ; if hungry, there was food ; if it sunk down 
upon and saddened the heart, here were the means supplied 
of mirth, or at least of amusement. ISTor did the assistants 
scorn to avail themselves of those means of consolation, al- 
though, every now and then, as if suddenly recollecting the 
cause which had brought them together, the men groaned 
in unison, while the females, of whom many were present, 
raised up their voices and shrieked for very woe. 

Such was the scene in the castle-yard at Coningsburgh when 
it was entered by Eichard and his followers. The seneschal or 
steward deigned not to take notice of the groups of inferior 
guests who were perpetually entering and withdrawing, un- 
less so far as was necessary to preserve order ; nevertheless, he 
was struck by the good mien of the Monarch and Ivanhoe, 
more especially as he imagined the features of the latter were 
familiar to him. Besides, the approach of two knights, for 
such their dress bespoke them, was a rare event at a Saxon 
solemnity, and could not but be regarded as a sort of honour 
to the deceased and his family. And in his sable dress, and 
holding in his hand his white wand of office, this important 
personage made way through the miscellaneous assemblage of 
guests, thus conducting Eichard and Ivanhoe to the entrance 
of the tower. Gurth and Wamba speedily found acquaintances 
in the courtyard, nor presumed to intrude themselves any 
farther until their presence should be required. 

COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

A continuation of the woodland scene. 

What opportunity has Richard had to reveal himself to Ivanhoe ? 

What has been the motive of his disguise ? 

How much longer must he preserve it from all but a few friends ? 

What is Scott’s final estimate of Richard ? 

Why is Robin Hood embarrassed when the King asks for refresh- 
ment? 

By what amusing trick does Robin Hood end the ‘ silvan repast ’ ? 

What precautions does he take for the safe arrival of the King and his 
company to Coningsburgh ? 

What does Scott say about the situation and structure of the Castle ? 

[Coningsburgh Castle is five miles southwestof Doncaster. See Map.] 

Describe the scene in the castle yard. 


CHAPTE-E XLII 


I found them winding of Marcello’s corpse. 

And there was such a solemn melody, 

’Twixt doleful songs, tears, and sad elegies,— 

Such as old grandames, watching by the dead, 

Are wont to outwear the night with. 

Old Play, 

The mode of entering the great tower of Coningsbnrgh Castle 
is very peculiar, and partakes of the rude simplicity of the 
early times in which it was erected. A flight of steps, so deep 
and narrow as to be almost precipitous, leads up to a low 
portal in the south side of the tower, by which the adventur- 
ous antiquary may still, or at least could a few years since, 
gain access to a small stair within the thickness of the main 
wall of the tower, which leads up to the third story of the 
building — the two lower being dungeons or vaults, which 
neither receive air nor light, save by a square hole in the 
third story, with which they seem to have communicated by a 
ladder. The access to the upper apartments in the tower, 
which consist in all of four stories, is given by stairs which 
are carried up through the external buttresses. 

By this difficult and complicated entrance, the good King 
Eichard, followed by his faithful Ivanhoe, was ushered into 
the round apartment which occupies the whole of the third 
story from the ground. Wilfred, by the difficulties of the 
ascent, gained time to muffle his face in his mantle, as it had 
been held expedient that he should not present himself to his 
father until the King should give him the signal. 

There were assembled in this apartment, around a large 
oaken table, about a dozen of the most distinguished repre- 
sentatives of the Saxon families in the adjacent counties. 
These were all old, or at least elderly, men; for the younger 
race, to the great displeasure of the seniors, had, like Ivanhoe, 
broken down many of the barriers which separated for half a 
century the Norman victors from the vanquished Saxons. 
The downcast and sorrowful looks of these venerable men, 
their silence and their mournful posture, formed a strong con- 

442 


IVANHOE 


443 


trast to the levity of the revellers on the outside of the castle. 
Their grey locks and long full beards, together with their 
antique tunics and loose black mantles, suited well with the 
singular and rude apartment in which they were seated, and 
gave the appearance of a band of ancient worshippers of 
Woden, recalled to life to mourn over the decay of their na- 
tional glory. 

Cedric, seated in equal rank among his countrymen, seemed 
yet, by common consent, to act as chief of the assembly. Upon 
the entrance of Richard (only known to him as the valorous 
Knight of the Fetterlock) he arose gravely, and gave him 
welcome by the ordinary salutation, Waes hael, raising at the 
same time a goblet to his head. The King, no stranger to the 
customs of his English subjects, returned the greeting with 
the appropriate words, Drinc hael, and partook of a cup which 
was handed to him by the sewer. The same courtesy was 
offered to Ivanhoe, who pledged his father in silence, supply- 
ing the usual speech by an inclination of his head, lest his voice 
should have been recognised. 

When this introductory ceremony was performed, Cedric 
arose, and, extending his hand to Richard, conducted him into 
a small and very rude chapel, which was excavated, as it were, 
out of one of the external buttresses. As there was no open- 
ing, saving a very narrow loophole, the place would have been 
nearly quite dark but for two flambeaux or torches, which 
showed, by a red and smoky light, the arched roof and naked 
walls, the rude altar of stone, and the crucifix of the same 
material. 

Before this altar was placed a bier, and on each side of this 
bier kneeled three priests, who told their beads, and muttered 
their prayers, with the greatest signs of external devotion. 
For this service a splendid ^ soul-scat ^ was paid to the convent 
of St. Edmund^s by the mother of the deceased; and, that it 
might be fully deserved, the whole brethren, saving the lame 
sacristan, had transferred themselves to Coningsburgh, where, 
while six of their number were constantly on guard in the 
performance of divine rites by the bier of Athelstane, the 
others failed not to take their share of the refreshments and 
amusements which went on at the castle. In maintaining this 
pious watch and ward, the good monks were particularly care- 
ful not to interrupt their hymns for an instant, lest Zernebock, 
the ancient Saxon Apollyon, should lay his clutches on the de- 


444 


IVANHOE 


parted Athelstane. Nor were they less careful to prevent any 
unhallowed layman from touching the pall, which, having 
been that used at the funeral of St. Edmund, was liable to be 
desecrated if handled by the profane. If, in truth, these atten- 
tions could be of any use to the deceased, he had some right 
to expect them at the hands of the brethren of St. Edmund^s, 
since, besides a hundred mancuses of gold paid down as the 
soul-ransom, the mother of Athelstane had announced her 
intention of endowing that foundation with the better part 
of the lands of the deceased, in order to maintain perpetual 
prayers for his soul and that of her departed husband. 

Eichard and Wilfred followed the Saxon Cedric into the 
apartment of death, where, as their guide pointed with solemn 
air to the untimely bier of Athelstane, they followed his ex- 
ample in devoutly crossing themselves, and muttering a brief 
prayer for the weal of the departed soul. 

This act of pious charity performed, Cedric again motioned 
them to follow him, gliding over the stone floor with a noise- 
less tread ; and, after ascending a few steps, opened with great 
caution the door of a small oratory, which adjoined to the 
chapel. It was about eight feet square, hollowed, like the 
chapel itself, out of the thickness of the wall; and the loop- 
hole which enlightened it being to the west, and widening 
considerably as it sloped inward, a beam of the setting sun 
found its way into its dark recess, and showed a female of 
a dignifled mien, and whose countenance retained the marked 
remains of majestic beauty. Her long mourning robes, and 
her flowing wimple of black cypress, enhanced the whiteness 
of her skin, and the beauty of her light-coloured and flowing 
tresses, which time had neither thinned nor mingled with 
silver. Her countenance expressed the deepest sorrow that is 
consistent with resignation. On the stone table before her 
stood a crucifix of ivory, beside which was laid a missal, hav- 
ing its pages richly illuminated, and its boards adorned with 
clasps of gold and bosses of the same precious metal. 

^ Noble Edith,’ said Cedric, after having stood a moment 
silent, as if to give Eichard and Wilfred time to look upon the 
lady of the mansion, ^ these are worthy strangers come to take 
a part in thy sorrows. And this, in especial, is the valiant 
knight who fought so bravely for the deliverance of him for 
whom we this day mourn.’ 

^ His bravery has my thanks,’ returned the lady ; ^ although 


IVANHOE 


445 


it be the will of Heaven that it should be displayed in vain. I 
thank, too, his courtesy, and that of his companion, which hath 
brought them hither to behold the widow of Adding, the 
mother of Athelstane, in her deep hour of sorrow and lamen- 
tation. To your care, kind kinsman, I entrust them, satisfied 
that they will want no hospitality which these sad walls can 
yet afford.^ 

The guests bowed deeply to the mourning parent, and with- 
drew with their hospitable guide. 

Another winding stair conducted them to an apartment of 
the same size with that which they had first entered, occupy- 
ing indeed the story immediately above. From this room, 
ere yet the door was opened, proceeded a low and melancholy 
strain of vocal music. When they entered, they found them- 
selves in the presence of about twenty matrons and maidens of 
distinguished Saxon lineage. Four maidens, Eowena leading 
the choir, raised a hymn for the soul of the deceased, of which 
we have only been able to decipher two or three stanzas ; — 

Dust unto dust, 

To this all must. 

The tenant hath resign’d 
The faded form 
To waste and worm ; 

Corruption claims her kind. 

Through paths unknown 
Thy soul hath flown, 

To seek the realms of woe, 

Where flery pain 
Shall purge the stain 
Of actions done below. 

In that sad place, 

By Mary’s grace, 

Brief may thy dwelling be ! 

Till prayers and alms, 

And holy psalms. 

Shall set the captive free. 

While this dirge was sung, in a low and melancholy tone, 
by the female choristers, the others were divided into two 
bands of which one was engaged in bedecking, with such 
embroidery as their skill and taste could compass, a large 
silken pall, destined to cover the bier of Athelstane, while the 
others busied themselves in selecting, from baskets of flowers 
placed before them, garlands, which they intended for the 
same mournful purpose. The behaviour of the maidens was 


446 


IVANHOE 


decorous, if not marked with deep affliction; but now and then 
a whisper or a smile called forth the rebuke of the severer 
matrons, and here and there might be seen a damsel more in- 
terested in endeavouring to find out how her mourning-robe 
became her than in the dismal ceremony for which they were 
preparing. Neither was this propensity (if we must needs 
confess the truth) at all diminished by the abearance of two 
strange knights, which occasioned some looking up, peeping, 
and whispering. Eowena alone, too proud to be vain, paid her 
greeting to her deliverer with a graceful courtesy. Her de- 
meanour was serious, but not dejected ; and it may be doubted 
whether thoughts of Ivanhoe, and of the uncertainty of his 
fate, did not claim as great a share in her gravity as the death 
of her kinsman. 

To Cedric, however, who, as we have observed, was not 
remarkably clear-sighted on such occasions, the sorrow of his 
ward seemed so much deeper than any of the other maidens 
that he deemed it proper to whisper the explanation, ^ She 
was the affianced bride of the noble Athelstane.’ It may be 
doubted whether this communication went a far way to in- 
crease Wilfred’s disposition to sympathise with the mourners 
of Coningsburgh. 

Having thus formally introduced the guests to the different 
chambers in which the obsequies of Athelstane were celebrated 
under different forms, Cedric conducted them into a small 
room, destined, as he informed them, for the exclusive accom- 
modation of honourable guests, whose more slight connexion 
with the deceased might render them unwilling to join those 
who were immediately affected by the unhappy event. He as- 
sured them of every accommodation, and was about to with- 
draw when the Black Knight took his hand. 

^ I crave to remind you, noble thane,’ . he said, ^ that when 
we last parted you promised, for the service I had the fortune 
to render you, to grant me a boon.’ 

^ It is granted ere named, noble Knight,’ said Cedric ; ^ yet, 
at this sad moment ’ 

^ Of that also,’ said the King, ^ I have bethought me ; but 
my time is brief ; neither does it seem to me unfit that, when 
closing the grave on the noble Athelstane, we should deposit 
therein certain prejudices and hasty opinions.’ 

^ Sir Knight of the Fetterlock,’ said Cedric, colouring, and 
interrupting the King in hi§ turn, ^ I trust your boon regards 


IVANHOE 


447 


yourself and no other; for in that which concerns the honour 
of my house, it is scarce fitting that a stranger should mingle/ 

" Nor do I wish to mingle,’ said the King, mildly, ‘ unless in 
so far as you will admit me to have an interest. As yet you 
have known me but as the Black Knight of the Fetterlock. 
Know me now as Eichard Plantagenet.’ 

‘ Eichard of Anjou ! ’ exclaimed Cedric, stepping backward 
with the utmost astonishment. 

^ No, noble Cedric — Eichard of England ! whose deepest 
interest — whose deepest wish, is to see her sons united with 
each other. And, how now, worthy thane ! hast thou ho knee 
for thy prince ? ’ 

^ To Norman blood,’ said Cedric, ^ it hath never bended.’ 

^ Eeserve thine homage then,’ said the Monarch, ^ until I 
shall prove my right to it by my equal protection of Normans 
and English.’ 

^ Prince,’ answered Cedric, ^ I have ever done justice to thy 
bravery and thy worth. Nor am I ignorant of thy claim to the 
crown through thy descent from Matilda, niece to Edgar 
Atheling, and daughter to Malcolm of Scotland. But Matilda, 
though of the royal Saxon blood, was not the heir to the 
monarchy.’ 

‘ I will not dispute my title with thee, noble thane,’ said 
Eichard calmly ; ‘ but I will bid thee look around, thee, and 
see where thou wilt find another to be put into the scale 
against it.’ 

^ And hast thou wandered hither. Prince, to tell me so ? ’ 
said Cedric — ‘ to upbraid me with the ruin of my race, ere the 
grave has closed o’er the last scion of Saxon royalty ? ’ His 
countenance darkened as he spoke. ^It was boldly — it was 
rashly done ! ’ 

^Not so, by the holy rood ! ’ replied the King; ^ it was done 
in the frank confidence which one brave man may repose in 
another, without a shadow of danger.’ 

‘ Thou sayest well. Sir King — for King I own thou art, and 
wilt be, despite of my feeble opposition. I dare not take the 
only mode to prevent it, though thou hast placed the strong 
temptation within my reach ! ’ 

‘ And now to my boon,’ said the King, ^ which I ask not 
with one jot the less confidence, that thou hast refused to 
acknowledge my lawful sovereignty. I require of thee, as a 
man of thy word, on pain of being held faithless, man-sworn. 


448 


IVANHOE 


and nidering/^ to forgive and receive to thy paternal affec- 
tion the good knight, Wilfred of Ivanhoe. In this reconcilia- 
tion thou wilt own I have an interest — the happiness of my 
friend, and the quelling of dissension among my faithful 
people.’ 

‘ And this is Wilfred ! ’ said Cedric, pointing to his son. 

^ My father ! — my father ! ’ said Ivanhoe, prostrating him- 
self at Cedric’s feet, ^ grant me thy forgiveness ! ’ 

^ Thou hast it, my son,’ said Cedric, raising him up. ^ The 
son of Hereward knows how to keep his word, even when it 
has been passed to a Norman. But let me see thee use the 
dress and costume of thy English ancestry: no short cloaks, 
no gay bonnets, no fantastic plumage in my decent household. 
He that would be the son of Cedric must show himself of 
^glish ancestry. Thou art about to speak,’ he added, sternly, 
^nd I guess the topic. The Lady Eowena must complete two 
years’ mourning, as for a betrothed husband: all our Saxon 
ancestors would disown us were we to treat of a new union 
for her ere the grave of him she should have wedded — him so 
much the most worthy of her hand by birth and ancestry — is 
yet closed. The ghost of Athelstane himself would burst his 
bloody cerements, and stand before us to forbid such dis- 
honour to his memory.’ 

It seemed as if Cedric’s words had raised a spectre; for 
scarce had he uttered them ere the door flew open, and Athel- 
stane, arrayed in the garments of the grave, stood before them, 
pale, haggard, and like something arisen from the dead ! * 
The effect of this apparition on the persons present was 
utterly appalling. Cedric started back as far as the wall of 
the apartment would permit, and, leaning against it as one 
unable to support himself, gazed on the figure of his friend 
with eyes that seemed fixed, and a mouth which he appeared 
incapable of shutting. Ivanhoe crossed himself, repeating 
prayers in Saxon, Latin, or Norman-French, as they occurred 
to his memory, while Eichard alternately said ^ Benedicite/ 
and swore, * Mort de ma vie!* 

In the meantime, a horrible noise was heard below stairs, 
some crying, ' Secure the treacherous monks ! ’ — others, 
‘ Down with them into the dungeon ! ’ — others, ^ Pitch them 
from the highest battlements ! ’ 

‘ In the name of God ! ’ said Cedric, addressing what seemed 
* See Raising of Athelstane. Note 28. 


IVANHOE 


449 


the spectre of his departed friend, ^ if thou art mortal, speak ! 
— if a departed spirit, say for what cause thou dost revisit us, 
or if I can do aught that can set thy spirit at repose. Living 
or dead, noble Athelstane, speak to Cedric ! ^ 

‘ I will,’ said the spectre, veyy composedly, ^ when I have 
collected breath, and when you give me time. Alive, saidst 
thou ? I am as much alive as he can be who has fed on bread 
and water for three days, which seem three ages. Yes, bread 
and water, father Cedric! By Heaven, and all saints in it, 
better food hath not passed my weasand for three livelong 
days, and by God’s providence it is that I am now here to 
tell it.’ 

^ Why, noble Athelstane,’ said the Black Knight, ‘ I myself 
saw you struck down by the fierce Templar towards the end 
of the storm at Torquilstone, and, as I thought, and Wamba 
reported, your skull was cloven through the teeth.’ ^ 

^ You thought amiss, Sir Knight,’ said Athelstane, ^ and 
Wamba lied. My teeth are in good order, and that my supper 
shall presently find. Ko thanks to the Templar though, whose 
sword turned in his hand, so that the blade struck me fiatlings, 
being averted by the handle of the good mace with which I 
warded the blow ; had my steel-cap been on, I had not valued 
it a rush, and had dealt him such a counterbluff as would have 
spoilt his retreat. But as it was, down I went, stunned, in- 
deed, but unwounded. Others, of both sides, were beaten down 
and slaughtered above me, so that I never recovered my senses 
until I found myself in a coffin — an open one, by good luck ! — 
placed before the altar of the church of St. Edmund’s. I 
sneezed repeatedly — groaned — awakened, and would have 
arisen, when the sacristan and abbot, full of terror, came 
running at the noise, surprised, doubtless, and no way pleased, 
to find the man alive whose heirs they had proposed themselves 
to be. I asked for wine ; they gave me some, but it must have 
been highly medicated, for I slept yet more deeply than before, 
and wakened not for many hours. I found my arms swathed 
down, my feet tied so fast that mine ankles ache at the very 
remembrance ; the place was utterly dark — the oubliette, as I 
suppose, of their accursed convent, and from the close, stified, 
damp smell I conceive it is also used for a place of sepulture. 
I had strange thoughts of what had befallen me, when the door 
of my dungeon creaked, and two villain monks entered. They 
would have persuaded me I was in purgatory, but I knew too 
IX 29 


450 


IVANHOE 


well the pursy, short-breathed voice of the father abbot. St. 
Jeremy ! how different from that tone with which he used to 
ask me for another slice of the haunch ! the dog has feasted 
with me from Christmas to Twelfth Mght.^ 

^ Have patience, noble Athelstane,’ said the King, ‘ take 
breath — tell your story at leisure ; beshrew me but such a tale 
is as well worth listening to as a romance.’ 

^ Ay but, by the rood of Bromholme, there was no romance 
in the matter ! ’ said Athelstane. ^ A barley loaf and a pitcher 
of water — that they gave me, the niggardly traitors, whom my 
father, and I m3'Self, had enriched, when their best resources 
were the flitches of bacon and measures of corn out of which 
they wheedled poor serfs and bondsmen, in exchange for their 
prayers. The nest of foul, ungrateful vipers — barley bread 
and ditch water to such a patron as I had been ! I will smoke 
them out of their nest, though I be excommunicated ! ’ 

^ But, in the name of Our Lady, noble Athelstane,’ said 
Cedric, grasping the hand of his friend, ‘ how didst thou es- 
cape this imminent danger ? did their hearts relent ? ’ 

^ Did their hearts relent ! ’ echoed Athelstane. ^ Do rocks 
melt with the sun? I should have been there still, had not 
some stir in the convent, which I find was their procession 
hitherward to eat my funeral feast, when they well knew how 
and where I had been buried alive, summoned the swarm out 
of their hive. I heard them droning out their death-psalms, 
little judging they were sung in respect for my soul by those 
who were thus famishing my body. They went, however, and 
I waited long for food; no wonder — the gouty sacristan was 
even too busy with his own provender to mind mine. At 
length down he came, with an unstable step and a strong 
flavour of wine and spices about his person. Good cheer had 
opened his heart, for he left me a nook of pasty and a flask of 
wine instead of my former fare. I ate, drank, and was invig- 
orated ; when, to add to my good luck, the sacristan, too totty 
to discharge his duty of turnkey fitly, locked the door beside 
the staple, so that it fell ajar. The light, the food, the wine 
set my invention to work. The staple to which my chains 
were fixed was more rusted than I or the villain abbot had 
supposed. Even iron could not remain without consuming in 
the damps of that infernal dungeon.’ 

^ Take breath, noble Athelstane,’ said Richard, ^ and partake 
of some refreshment, ere you proceed with a tale so dreadful.’ 


IVANHOE 


451 


‘ Partake ! ’ quoth Athelstane. ' I have been partaking five 
times to-day; and yet a morsel of that savoury ham were not 
altogether foreign to the matter : and I pray you, fair sir, to do 
me reason in a cup of wine.’ 

The guests, though still agape with astonishment, pledged 
their resuscitated landlord, who thus proceeded in his story : — 
He had indeed now many more auditors than those to whom 
it was commenced, for Edith, having given certain necessary 
orders for arranging matters within the castle, had followed 
the dead-alive up to the strangers’ apartment, attended by as 
many of the guests, male and female, as could squeeze into the 
small room, while others, crowding the staircase, caught up an 
erroneous edition of the story, and transmitted it still more 
inaccurately to those beneath, who again sent it forth to the 
vulgar without, in a fashion totally irreconcilable to the real 
fact. Athelstane, however, went on as follows with the history 
of his escape: — 

^ Finding myself freed from the staple, I dragged myself up- 
stairs as well as a man loaded with shackles, and emaciated 
with fasting, might; and after much groping about, I was at 
length directed, by the sound of a Jolly roundelay, to the 
apartment where the worthy sacristan, an it so please ye, was 
holding a devil’s mass with a huge beetle-browed, broad- 
shouldered brother of the grey-frock and cowl, who looked 
much more like a thief than a clergyman. I burst in upon 
them, and the fashion of my grave-clothes, as well as the clank- 
ing of my chains, made me more resemble an inhabitant of 
the other world than of this. Both stood aghast ; but when I 
knocked down the sacristan with my fist, the other fellow, his 
pot-companion, fetched a blow at me with a huge quarter- 
staff.’ 

‘ This must be our Friar Tuck, for a count’s ransom,’ said 
Kichard, looking at Ivanhoe. 

^ He may be the devil, an he will,’ said Athelstane. ^ For- 
tunately, he missed the aim ; and on my approaching to grap- 
ple with him, took to his heels and ran for it. I failed not to 
set my own heels at liberty by means of the fetter-key, which 
hung amongst others at the sexton’s belt ; and I had thoughts 
of beating out the knave’s brains with the bunch of keys, but 
gratitude for the nook of pasty and the flask of wine which the 
rascal had imparted to my captivity came over my heart ; so, 
with a brace of hearty kicks, I left him on the floor, pouched 


452 


IVANHOE 


some baked meat and a leathern bottle of wine, with which the 
two venerable brethren had been regaling, went to the stable, 
and found in a private stall mine own best palfrey, which, 
doubtless, had been set apart for the holy father abbot^s par- 
ticular use. Hither I came with all the speed the beast could 
compass — man and mother’s son flying before me wherever I 
came, taking me for a spectre, the more especially as, to pre- 
vent my being recognised, I drew the corpse-hood over my face. 
I had not gained admittance into my own castle, had I not 
been supposed to be the attendant of a juggler who is making 
the people in the castle-yard very merry, considering they are 
assembled to celebrate their lord’s funeral. I say the sewer 
thought I was dressed to bear a part in the tregetour’s mum- 
mery, and so I got admission, and did but disclose myself to 
my mother, and eat a hasty morsel, ere I came in quest of you, 
my noble friend.’ 

^ And you have found me,’ said Cedric, ^ ready to resume our 
brave projects of honour and liberty. I tell thee, never will 
dawn a morrow so auspicious as the next for the deliverance of 
the noble Saxon race.’ 

^ Talk not to me of delivering any one,’ said Athelstane ; ^ it 
is well I am delivered myself. I am more intent on punishing 
that villain abbot. He shall hang on the top of this Castle of 
Coningsburgh, in his cope and stole; and if the stairs be too 
strait to admit his fat carcass, I will have him craned up from 
without.’ 

^ But, my son,’ said Edith, ‘ consider his sacred office.’ 

^ Consider my three days’ fast,’ replied Athelstane ; ' I will 
have their blood every one of them. Front-de-Boeuf was 
burnt alive for a less matter, for he kept a good table for his 
prisoners, only put too much garlic in his last dish of pottage. 
But these hypocritical, ungrateful slaves, so often the self- 
invited flatterers at my board, who gave me neither pottage 
nor garlic, more or less — they die, by the soul of Hengist ! ’ 

^ But the Pope, my noble friend,’ said Cedric 

‘But the devil, my noble friend,’ answered Athelstane; 
‘they die, and no more of them. Were they the best monks 
upon earth, the world would go on without them.’ 

‘For shame, noble Athelstane,’ said Cedric; ‘forget such 
wretches in the career of glory which lies open before thee. 
Tell this Norman prince, Ei chard of Anjou, that, lion-hearted 
as he is, he shall not hold undisputed the throne of Alfred, 


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453 


while a male descendant of the Holy Confessor lives to dis- 
pute it.’ 

^ How ! ’ said Athelstane, ^ is this the noble King Richard ? ’ 

‘It is Richard Plantagenet himself/ said Cedric; ‘yet I 
need not remind thee that, coming hither a guest of free-will, 
he may neither be injured nor detained prisoner: thou well 
knowest thy duty to him as his host.’ 

‘ Ay, by my faith ! ’ said Athelstane ; ‘ and my duty as a 
subject besides, for I here tender him my allegiance, heart and 
hand.’ 

‘ My son,’ said Edith, ‘ think on thy royal rights ! ’ 

‘ Think on the freedom of England, degenerate prince ! ’ 
said Cedric. 

‘ Mother and friend,’ said Athelstane, ‘ a truce to your up- 
braidings! Bread and water and a dungeon are marvellous 
mortifiers of ambition, and I rise from the tomb a wiser man 
than I descended into it. One half of those vain follies were 
puffed into mine ear by that perfidious Abbot Wolfram, and 
you may now judge if he is a counsellor to be trusted. Since 
these plots were set in agitation, I have had nothing but 
hurried journeys, indigestions, blows and bruises, imprison- 
ments, and starvation; besides that they can only end in the 
murder of some thousands of quiet folk. I tell you, I will be 
king in my own domains, and nowhere else; and my first act 
of dominion shall be to hang the abbot.’ 

‘ And my ward Rowena,’ said Cedric— ‘ I trust you intend 
not to desert her ? ’ 

‘ Father Cedric,’ said Athelstane, ‘ be reasonable. The Lady 
Rowena cares not for me ; she loves the little finger of my kins- 
man Wilfred’s glove better than my whole person. There she 
stands to avouch it. Kay, blush not, kinswoman; there is no 
shame in loving a courtly knight better than a country frank- 
lin ; and do not laugh neither, Rowena, for grave-clothes and a 
thin visage are, God knows, no matter of merriment. Kay, an 
thou wilt needs laugh, I will find thee a better jest. Give me 
thy hand, or rather lend it me, for I but ask it in the way of 
friendship. Here, cousin Wilfred of Ivanhoe, in thy favour I 

renounce and abjure Hey! by St. Dunstan, our cousin 

Wilfred hath vanished ! Yet’ unless my eyes are still dazzled 
with the fasting I have undergone, I saw him stand there but 
even now.’ 

All now looked around and inquired for Ivanhoe; but he 


454 


IVANHOE 


had vanished. It was at length discovered that a Jew had been 
to seek him; and that, after very brief conference, he had 
called for Gurth and his armour, and had left the castle. 

^ Fair cousin,’ said Athelstane to Eowena, ‘ could I think 
that this sudden disappearance of Ivanhoe was occasioned by 
other than the weightiest reason, I would myself resume ’ 

' But he had no sooner let go her hand, on first observing 
that Ivanhoe had disappeared, than Eowena, who had found 
her situation extremely embarrassing, had taken the first op- 
portunity to escape from the apartment. 

^ Certainly,’ quoth Athelstane, ^ women are the least to be 
trusted of all animals, monks and abbots excepted. I am an 
infidel, if I expected not thanks from her, and perhaps a kiss 
to boot. These cursed grave-clothes have surely a spell on 
them, every one flies from me. To you I turn, noble King 
Eichard, with the vows of allegiance, which, as a liege sub- 
ject ’ 

But King Eichard was gone also, and no one knew whither. 
At length it was learned that he had hastened to the court- 
yard, summoned to his presence the Jew who had spoken with 
Ivanhoe, and, after a moment’s speech with him, had called 
vehemently to horse, thrown himself upon a steed, compelled 
the Jew to mount another, and set off at a rate which, accord- 
ing to Wamba, rendered the old Jew’s neck not worth a 
penny’s purchase. 

^ By my halidome ! ’ said Athelstane, ^ it is certain that 
Zernebock hath possessed himself of my castle in my absence. 
I return in my grave-clothes, a pledge restored from the very 
sepulchre, and every one I speak to vanishes as soon as they 
hear my voice! But it skills not talking of it. Come, my 
friends, such of you as are left, follow me to the banquet- 
hall, lest any more of us disappear. It is, I trust, as yet 
tolerably furnished, as becomes the obsequies of an ancient 
Saxon noble; and should we tarry any longer, who knows but 
the devil may fly off with the supper ? ’ 

COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

Try to fix in mind the entrance, and the arrangfement of the rooms in 
Coning^sburg^h Castle. Observe the manner of celebrating the obsequies 
of Athelstane by the various groups. Note carefully Cedric’s manner 


IVANHOE 


455 


when Richard reveals himself. Find the place where Cedric promised 
to grant him a boon. 

What boon is now demanded ? 

For what reasons does Cedric dislike his son ? 

Are you surprised at the appearance of Athelstane ?— Turn back to the 
scene when he was struck down by Bois-Guilbert (Chapter XXXI). 

Give an account of Athelstane for the last three days. 

What motive had the Abbot for keeping Athelstane a corpse ? 

What effect has the mock burial had upon Athelstane’s ambition ? 

The sudden disappearance of Ivanhoe and Richard gives a fine close 
to the chapter. 

On the raising of Athelstane read Scott’s note (p. 493). The incident 
has generally been criticised with severity. Rxtravagant humour it is, 
no doubt ; but it seems to me to be in perfect harmony with the charac- 
ter of Athelstane, himself an extravagant caricature, sometimes heavy 
and yet on the whole a most amusing glutton. 


CHAPTEK XLIII 

Be Mowbray’s sins so heavy in his bosom, 

That they may break his foaming courser’s back, 

And throw the rider headlong in the lists, 

A caitiff recreant ! 

Richard II. 

Our scene now returns to the exterior of the castle, or precep- 
tory, of Templestowe, about the hour when the bloody die was 
to be cast for the life or death of Kebecca. It was a scene of 
bustle and life, as if the whole vicinity had poured forth its 
inhabitants to a village wake or rural feast. But the earnest 
desire to look on blood and death is not peculiar to those dark 
ages ; though, in the gladiatorial exercise of single combat and 
general tourney, they were habituated to the bloody spectacle 
of brave men falling by each other’s hands. Even in our own 
days, when morals are better understood, an execution, a bruis- 
ing-match, a riot, or a meeting of radical reformers, collects, 
at considerable hazard to themselves, immense crowds of spec- 
tators, otherwise little interested, except to see how matters 
are to be conducted, or whether the heroes of the day are, in 
the heroic language of insurgent tailors, ‘ flints ’ or ^ dung- 
hills.’ 

The eyes, therefore, of a very considerable multitude were 
bent on the gate of the preceptory of Templestowe, with the 
purpose of witnessing the procession ; while still greater num- 
bers had already surrounded the tiltyard belonging to that es- 
tablishment. This inclosure was formed on a piece of level 
ground adjoining to the preceptory, which had been levelled 
with care, for the exercise of military and chivalrous sports. 
It occupied the brow of a soft and gentle eminence, was care- 
fully palisaded around, and, as the Templars willingly invited 
spectators to be witnesses of their skill in feats of chivalry, 
was amply supplied with galleries and benches for their use. 

On the present occasion, a throne was erected for the Grand 
Master at the east end, surrounded with seats of distinction for 
the preceptors and knights of the order. Over these floated 
the sacred standard, called Le Beau-seant, which was the en- 
sign, as its name was the battle-cry, of the Templars. 

At the opposite end of the lists was a pile of faggots, so 
456 


IVANHOE 


457 


arranged around a stake, deeply fixed in the ground, as to 
leave a space for the victim whom they were destined to con- 
sume to enter within the fatal circle, in order to be chained to 
the stake by the fetters which hung ready for that purpose. 
Beside this deadly apparatus stood four black slaves, whose 
colour and African features, then so little known in England, 
appalled the multitude, who gazed on them as on demons em- 
ployed about their own diabolical exercises. These men stirred 
not, excepting now and then, under the direction of one who 
seemed their chief, to shift and replace the ready fuel. They 
looked not on the multitude. In fact, they seemed insensible, 
of their presence, and of everything save the discharge of their 
own horrible duty. And when, in speech with each other, they 
expanded their blubber lips, and showed their white fangs, as 
if they grinned at the thoughts of the expected tragedy, the 
startled commons could scarcely help believing that they were 
actually the familiar spirits with whom the witch had com- 
muned, and who, her time being out, stood ready to assist in 
her dreadful punishment. They whispered to each other, and 
communicated all the feats which Satan had performed during 
that busy and unhappy period, not failing, of course, to give 
the devil rather more than his due. 

^ Have you not heard, father Dennet,’ quoth one boor to 
another advanced in years, ^that the devil has carried away 
bodily the great Saxon thane, Athelstane of Coningsburgh ? ’ 

^ Ay, but he brought him back though, by the blessing of 
God and St. Dunstan.^ 

^ How’s that ? ’ said a brisk young fellow, dressed in a green 
cassock embroidered with gold, and having at his heels a stout 
lad bearing a harp upon his back, which betrayed his vocation. 
The Minstrel seemed of no vulgar rank ; for, besides the splen- 
dour of his gaily broidered doublet, he wore around his neck 
a silver chain, by which hung the ^ wrest,’ or key, with which 
he tuned his harp. On his right arm was a silver plate, which, 
instead of bearing, as usual, the cognizance or badge of the 
baron to whose family he belonged, had barely the word 
Sherwood engraved upon it. ^ How mean you by that ? ’ said 
the gay Minstrel, mingling in the conversation of the peasants ; 
‘ I came to seek one subject for ;my rhyme, and, by’r Lady, I 
were glad to find two.’ 

"It is well avouched,’ said the elder peasant, "that after 
Athelstane of Coningsburgh had been dead four weeks ’ 


458 


IVANHOE 


^ That is impossible/ said the Minstrel ; ‘ I saw him in life 
at the passage of arms at Ashby-de-la-Zouche/ 

‘ Dead, however^ he was, or else translated,^ said the younger 
peasant ; ^ for I heard the monks of St. Edmund^s singing the 
death’s hymn for him ; and, moreover, there was a rich death- 
meal and dole at the Castle of Coningsburgh, as right was ; and 
thither had I gone, but for Mabel Parkins, who ’ 

‘Ay, dead was Athelstane/ said the old man, shaking his 
head, ‘ and the more pity it was, for the old Saxon blood ’ 

‘But, your story, my masters — your story,’ said the Min- 
strel, somewhat impatiently. 

‘Ay, ay — construe us the story,’ said a burly friar, who 
stood beside them, leaning on a pole that exhibited an appear- 
ance between a pilgrim’s staff and a quarter-staff, and probably 
acted as either when occasion served — ‘your story,’ said the 
stalwart churchman. ‘Burn not daylight about it; we have 
short time to spare.’ 

‘ An please your reverence,’ said Dennet, ‘ a drunken priest 
came to visit the sacristan at St. Edmund’s ’ 

‘ It does not please my reverence,’ answered the churchman, 
‘ that there should be such an animal as a drunken priest, or, if 
there were, that a layman should so speak him. Be mannerly, 
my friend, and conclude the holy man only wrapt in medita- 
tion, which makes the head dizzy and foot unsteady, as if the 
stomach were filled with new wine : I have felt it myself.’ 

‘ Well, then,’ answered father Dennet, ‘ a holy brother came 
to visit the sacristan at St. Edmund’s — a sort of hedge-priest is 
the visitor, and kills half the deer that are stolen in the forest, 
who loves the tinkling of a pint-pot better than the sacring- 
bell, and deems a flitch of bacon worth ten of his breviary ; for 
the rest, a good fellow and a merry, who will flourish a quarter- 
staff, draw a bow, and dance a Cheshire round with e’er a man 
in Yorkshire.’ 

‘ That last part of thy speech, Dennet,’ said the Minstrel, 
‘ has saved thee a rib or twain.’ 

‘ Tush, man, I fear him not,’ said Dennet ; ‘ I am somewhat 
old and stiff, but when I fought for the bell and ram at Don- 
caster ’ 

‘ But the story — the story, my friend,’ again said the Min- 
strel. 

‘ Why, the tale is but this — Athelstane of Coningsburgh was 
buried at St. Edmund’s.’ 


IVANHOE 


459 


^ That’s a lie, and a loud one/ said the friar, ^ for I saw him 
borne to his own Castle of Coningsburgh.’ 

^ Nay, then, e’en tell the story yourself, my masters,’ said 
Dennet, turning sulkily at these repeated contradictions ; and 
it was with some difficulty that the boor could be prevailed on, 
by the request of his comrade and the Minstrel, to renew his 
tale. ^ These two sober friars,’ said he at length, ^ since this 
reverend man will needs have them such, had continued drink- 
ing good ale, and wine, and what not, for the best part of a 
summer’s day, when they were aroused by a deep groan, and a 
clanking of chains, and the figure of the deceased Athelstane 
entered the apartment, saying, Ye evil shepherds ! ” ’ 

^ It is false,’ said the friar, hastily, ^ he never spoke a word.’ 

^ So ho ! Friar Tuck,’ said the Minstrel, drawing him apart 
from the rustics ; ' we have started a new hare, I find.’ 

I tell thee, Allan-a-Dale,’ said the hermit, ^ I saw Athel- 
stane of Coningsburgh as much as bodily eyes ever saw a living 
man. He had his shroud on, and all about him smelt of the 
sepulchre. A butt of sack will not wash it out of my memory.’ 

^ Pshaw ! ’ answered the Minstrel ; ‘ thou dost but jest with 
me ! ’ 

^ Never believe me,’ said the Friar, ^ an I fetched not a 
knock at him with my quarter-staff that would have felled an 
ox, and it glided through his body as it might through a pillar 
of smoke ! ’ 

^ By St. Hubert,’ said the Minstrel, ^ but it is a wondrous 
tale, and fit to be put in metre to the ancient tune, Sorrow 
came to the Old Friar.” 

' Laugh, if ye list,’ said Friar Tuck ; ^ but an ye catch me 
singing on such a theme, may the next ghost or devil carry me 
off with him headlong ! No, no — I instantly formed the pur- 
pose of assisting at some good work, such as the burning of a 
witch, a judicial combat, or the like matter of godly service, 
and therefore am I here.’ 

As they thus conversed, the heavy bell of the church of St. 
Michael of Templestowe, a venerable building, situated in a 
hamlet at some distance from the preceptory, broke short 
their argument. One by one the sullen sounds fell successively 
on the ear, leaving but sufficient space for each to die away in 
distant echo, ere the air was again filled by repetition of the 
iron knell. These sounds, the signal of the approaching cere- 
mony, chilled with awe the hearts of the assembled multitude. 


460 


IVANHOE 


whose eyes were now turned to the preceptory, expecting the 
approach of the Grand Master, the champion, and the crim- 
inal. 

At length the drawbridge fell, the gates opened, and a 
knight, bearing the great standard of the order, sallied from 
the castle, preceded by six trumpets, and followed by the 
knights preceptors, two and two, the Grand Master coming 
last, mounted on a stately horse, whose furniture was of the 
simplest kind. Behind him came Brian de Bois-Guilbert, 
armed cap-a-pie in bright armour, but without his lance, 
shield, and sword, which were borne by his two esquires be- 
hind him. His face, though partly hidden by a long plume 
which floated down from his barret-cap, bore a strong and 
mingled expression of passion, in which pride seemed to con- 
tend with irresolution. He looked ghastly pale, as if he had 
not slept for several nights, yet reined his pawing war-horse 
with the habitual ease and grace proper to the best lance of 
the order of the Temple. His general appearance was grand 
and commanding; but, looking at him with attention, men 
read that in his dark features from which they willingly with- 
drew their eyes. 

On either side rode Conrade of Mont-Fitchet and Albert 
de Malvoisin, who acted as godfathers to the champion. They 
were in their robes of peace, the white dress of the order. 
Behind them followed other companions of the Temple, with a 
long train of esquires and pages clad in black, aspirants to the 
honour of being one day knights of the order. After these 
neophytes came a guard of warders on foot, in the same sable 
livery, amidst whose partizans might be seen the pale form of 
the accused, moving with a slow but undismayed step towards 
the scene of her fate. She was stript of all her ornaments, 
lest perchance there should be among them some of those 
amulets which Satan was supposed to bestow upon his victims, 
to deprive them of the power of confession even when under 
the torture. A coarse white dress, of the simplest form, had 
been substituted for her Oriental garments ; yet there was such 
an exquisite mixture of courage and resignation in her look 
that even in this garb, and with no other ornament than her 
long black tresses, each eye wept that looked upon her, and 
the most hardened bigot regretted the fate that had con- 
verted a creature so goodly into a vessel of wrath, and a waged 
slave of the devil. 


IVANHOE 


461 


A crowd of inferior personages belonging to the preceptory 
followed the victim, all moving with the utmost order, with 
arms folded and looks bent upon the ground. 

This slow procession moved up the gentle eminence, on the 
summit of which was the tiltyard, and, entering the lists, 
marched once around them from right to left, and when they 
had completed the circle, made a halt. There was then a 
momentary bustle, while the Grand Master and all his attend- 
ants, excepting the champion and his godfathers, dismounted 
from their horses, which were immediately removed out of the 
lists by the esquires, who were in attendance for that purpose. 

The unfortunate Eebecca was conducted to the black chair 
placed near the pile. On her first glance at the terrible spot 
where preparations were making for a death alike dismaying 
to the mind and painful to the body, she was observed to shud- 
der and shut her eyes, praying internally, doubtless, for her 
lips moved, though no speech was heard. In the space of a 
minute she opened her eyes, looked fixedly on the pile as if to 
familiarise her mind with the object, and then slowly and 
naturally turned away her head. 

Meanwhile, the Grand Master had assumed his seat; and 
when the chivalry of his order was placed around and behind 
him, each in his due rank, a loud and long fiourish of the 
trumpets announced that the court were seated for judgment. 
Malvoisin then, acting as godfather of the champion, stepped 
forward, and laid the glove of the Jewess, which was the 
pledge of battle, at the feet of the Grand Master. 

‘ Valorous lord and reverend father,’ said he, ' here standeth 
the good knight, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, Knight Preceptor of 
the Order of the Temple, who, by accepting the pledge of bat- 
tle which I now lay at your reverence’s feet, hath become 
bound to do his devoir in combat this day, to maintain that 
this Jewish maiden, by name Kebecca, hath justly deserved the 
doom passed upon her in a chapter of this most holy order of 
the Temple of Zion, condemning her to die as a sorceress — 
here, I say, he standeth, such battle to do, knightly and hon- 
ourable, if such be your noble and sanctified pleasure.’ 

^Hath he made oath,’ said the Grand Master, ^that his 
quarrel is just and honourable? Bring forward the crucifix 
and the Te igiturf 

‘ Sir and most reverend father,’ answered Malvoisin, readily, 
^ our brother here present hath already sworn to the truth of 


4G2 


IVANHOE 


his accusation in the hand of the good knight Conrade de 
Mont-Fitchet ; and otherwise he ought not to be sworn, seeing 
that his adversary is an unbeliever, and may take no oath/ 

This explanation was satisfactory, to Albert’s great joy; for 
the wily knight had foreseen the great difficulty, or rather im- 
possibility, of prevailing upon Brian de Bois-Guilbert to take 
such an oath before the assembly, and had invented this ex- 
cuse to escape the necessity of his doing so. 

The Grand Master, having allowed the apology of Albert 
Malvoisin, commanded the herald to stand forth and do his 
devoir. The trumpets then again flourished, and a herald, 
stepping forward, proclaimed aloud, ^ Oyez, oyez, oyez. Here 
standeth the good knight. Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, ready to 
do battle with any knight of free blood who will sustain the 
quarrel allowed and allotted to the Jewess Eebecca, to try by 
champion, in respect of lawful essoine of her own body ; and to 
such champion the reverend and valorous Grand Master here 
present allows a fair fleld, and equal partition of sun and 
wind, and whatever else appertains to a fair combat.’ The 
trumpets again sounded, and there was a dead pause of many 
minutes. 

‘ No champion appears for the appellant,’ said the Grand 
Master. ‘ Go, herald, and ask her whether she expects any one 
to do battle for her in this her cause.’ 

The herald went to the chair in which Eebecca was seated ; 
and Bois-Guilbert, suddenly turning his horse’s head toward 
that end of the lists, in spite of hints on either side from Mal- 
voisin and Mont-Fitchet, was by the side of Eebecca’s chair as 
soon as the herald. 

‘ Is this regular, and according to the law of combat ? ’ said 
Malvoisin, looking to the Grand Master. 

‘ Albert de Malvoisin, it is,’ answered Beaumanior ; ^ for in 
this appeal to the judgment of God we may not prohibit 
parties from having that communication with each other 
which may best tend to bring forth the truth of the quarrel.’ 

In the meantime, the herald spoke to Eebecca in these 
terms: ^Damsel, the honourable and reverend Grand Mas- 
ter demands of thee, if thou art prepared with a champion 
to do battle this day in thy behalf, or if thou dost yield thee as 
one justly condemned to a deserved doom ? ’ 

^ Say to the Grand Master,’ replied Eebecca, ^ that I main- 
tain my innocence, and do not yield me as justly condemned, 


IVANHOE 


463 


lest I become guilty of mine own blood. Say to him, that I 
challenge such delay as his forms will permit, to see if God, 
whose opportunity is in man^s extremity, will raise me up a 
deliverer; and when such uttermost space is passed, may His 
holy will be done ! ^ 

The herald retired to carry this answer to the Grand Master. 

‘ God forbid,^ said Lucas Beaumanoir, ^ that Jew or Pagan 
should impeach us of injustice ! Until the shadows be cast 
from the west to the eastward, will we wait to see if a cham- 
pion shall appear for this unfortunate woman. When the 
day is so far passed, let her prepare for death.’ 

The herald communicated the words of the Grand Master to 
Rebecca, who bowed her head submissively, folded her arms, 
and, looking up towards heaven, seemed to expect that aid 
from above which she could scarce promise herself from man. 
During this awful pause, the voice of Bois-Guilbert broke 
upon her ear; it was but a whisper, yet it startled her more 
than the summons of the herald had appeared to do. 

^ Rebecca,’ said the Templar, ^ dost thou hear me ? ’ 

‘ I have no portion in thee, cruel, hard-hearted man,’ said 
the unfortunate maiden. 

^ Ay, but dost thou understand my words ? ’ said the Tem- 
plar ; ^ for the sound of my voice is frightful in mine own ears. 
I scarce know on what ground we stand, or for what purpose 
they have brought us hither. This listed space — that chair — 
these faggots — I know their purpose, and yet it appears to me 
like something unreal — the fearful picture of a vision, which 
appals my sense with hideous fantasies, but convinces not my 
reason.’ 

'My mind and senses keep touch and time,’ answered Re- 
becca, ' and tell me alike that these faggots are destined to 
consume my earthly body, and open a painful but a brief 
passage to a better world.’ 

' Dreams, Rebecca — dreams,’ answered the Templar — ' idle 
visions, rejected by the wisdom of your own wiser Sadducees. 
Hear me, Rebecca,’ he said, proceeding with animation; 'a 
better chance hast thou for life and liberty than yonder 
knaves and dotard dream of. Mount thee behind me on my 
steed — on Zamor, the gallant horse that never failed his rider. 
I won him in single fight from the Soldan of Trebizond. 
Mount, I say, behind me ; in one short hour is pursuit and in- 
quiry far behind — a new world of pleasure opens to thee — to 


464 


IVANHOE 


me a new career of fame. Let them speak the doom which I 
despise, and erase the name of Bois-Guilbert from their list 
of monastic slaves ! I will wash out with blood whatever blot 
they may dare to cast on my scutcheon.^ 

* Tempter,’ said Eebecca, ^ begone ! Not in this last extrem- 
ity canst thou move me one hair’s-breadth from my resting- 
place. Surrounded as I am by foes, I hold thee as my worst 
and most deadly enemy ; avoid thee, in the name of God ! ’ 

Albert Malvoisin, alarmed and impatient at the duration 
of their conference, now advanced to interrupt it. 

^ Hath the maiden acknowledged her guilt ? ’ he demanded 
of Bois-Guilbert ; ^ or is she resolute in her denial ? ’ 

^ She is indeed resolute" said Bois-Guilbert. 

^Then,’ said Malvoisin, ^must thou, noble brother, resume 
thy place to attend the issue. The shades are changing on the 
circle of the dial. Come, brave Bois-Guilbert — come, thou 
hope of our holy order, and soon to be its head.’ 

As he spoke in this soothing tone, he laid his hand on the 
knight’s bridle, as if to lead him back to his station. 

^ False villain ! what meanest thou by thy hand on my rein ? ’ 
said Sir Brian, angrily. And shaking off his companion’s 
grasp, he rode back to the upper end of the lists. 

^ There is yet spirit in him,’ said Malvoisin apart to Mont- 
Fitchet, 'were it well directed; but, like the Greek fire, it 
hums whatever approaches it.’ 

The judges had now been two hours in the lists, awaiting 
in vain the appearance of a champion. 

' And reason good,’ said Friar Tuck, ' seeing she is a Jewess ; 
and yet, by mine order, it is hard that so young and beautiful 
a creature should perish without one blow being struck in 
her behalf! Were she ten times a witch, provided she were 
hut the least bit of a Christian, my quarter-staff should ring 
noon on the steel cap of yonder fierce Templar, ere he carried 
the matter off thus.’ 

It was, however, the general belief that no one could or 
would appear for a J ewess accused of sorcery ; and the knights, 
instigated by Malvoisin, whispered to each other that it was 
time to declare the pledge of Eebecca forfeited. At this in- 
stant a knight, urging his horse to speed, appeared on the plain 
advancing towards the lists. A hundred voices exclaimed, ' A 
champion ! — a champion 1 ’ And, despite the prepossessions 
and prejudices of the multitude, they shouted unanimously as 


IVANHOE 


465 


the knight rode into the tiltyard. The second glance, however, 
served to destroy the hope that his timely arrival had excited. 
His horse, urged for so many miles to its utmost speed, ap- 
peared to reel from fatigue, and the rider, however undaunt- 
edly he presented himself in the lists, either from weakness, 
weariness, or both, seemed scarce able to support himself in 
the saddle. 

To the summons of the herald, who demanded his rank, his 
name, and purpose, the stranger knight answered readily and 
boldly, ‘ I am a good knight and noble, come hither to sustain 
with lance and sword the just and lawful quarrel of this 
damsel, Kebecca, daughter of Isaac of York; to uphold the 
doom pronounced against her to be false and truthless, and to 
defy Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, as a traitor, murderer, and 
liar ; as I will prove in this field with my body against his, by 
the aid of God, of Our Lady, and of Monseigneur St. George, 
the good knight.’ 

^ The stranger must first show/ said Malvoisin, ' that he is 
good knight, and of honourable lineage. The Temple sendeth 
not forth her champions against nameless men.’ 

‘ My name,’ said the knight, raising his helmet, ^ is better 
known, my lineage more pure, Malvoisin, than thine own. I 
am Wilfred of Ivanhoe.’ 

^ I will not fight with thee at present,’ said the Templar, in 
a changed and hollow voice. ‘ Get thy wounds healed, purvey 
thee a better horse, and it may be I will hold it worth my while 
to scourge out of thee this boyish spirit of bravado.’ 

"Ha! proud Templar,’ said Ivanhoe, "hast thou forgotten 
that twice didst thou fall before this lance ? Eemember the 
lists at Acre; remember the passage of arms at Ashby; re- 
member thy proud vaunt in the halls of Rotherwood, and 
the gage of your gold chain against my reliquary, that thou 
wouldst do battle with Wilfred of Ivanhoe, and recover the 
honour thou hadst lost ! By that reliquary, and the holy relic 
it contains, I will proclaim thee, Templar, a coward in every 
court in Europe — in every preceptory of thine order — unless 
thou do battle without farther delay.’ 

Bois-Guilbert turned his countenance irresolutely towards 
Rebecca, and then exclaimed, looking fiercely at Ivanhoe, 
" Dog of a Saxon ! take thy lance, and prepare for the death 
thou hast drawn upon thee I ’ 

"Does the Grand Master allow me the combat ?’ said Ivanhoe. 

30 


IX 


466 


IVANHOE 


^ I may not deny what thou hast challenged/ said the Grand 
Master, ^provided the maiden accepts thee as her champion. 
Yet I would thou wert in better plight to do battle. An enemy 
of our order hast thou ever been, yet would I have thee honour- 
ably met with.^ 

^ Thus — thus as I am, and not otherwise/ said Ivanhoe ; ^ it 
is the judgment of God — to His keeping I commend myself. 
Eebecca,^ said he, riding up to the fatal chair, ^ dost thou ac- 
cept of me for thy champion ? ^ 

^ I do,’ she said — ^ I do/ fluttered by an emotion which the 
fear of death had been unable to produce — ^ I do accept thee as 
the champion whom Heaven hath sent me. Yet, no — no — thy 
wounds are uncured. Meet not that proud man ; why shouldst 
thou perish also ? ’ 

But Ivanhoe was already at his post, and had closed his 
visor, and assumed his lance. Bois-Guilbert did the same ; and 
his esquire remarked, as he clasped his visor, that his face, 
which had, notwithstanding the variety of emotions by which 
he had been agitated, continued during the whole morning of 
an ashy paleness, was now become suddenly very much flushed. 

The herald then, seeing each champion in his place, uplifted 
his voice, repeating thrice — Faites vos devoirs, preux cheva- 
liers ! After the third cry, he withdrew to one side of the lists, 
and again proclaimed that none, on peril of instant death, 
should dare by word, cry, or action to interfere with or disturb 
this fair fleld of combat. The Grand Master, who held in his 
hand the gage of battle, Eebecca’s glove, now threw it into the 
lists, and pronounced the fatal signal words, Laissez alter. 

The trumpets sounded, and the knights charged each other 
in full career. The wearied horse of Ivanhoe, and its no less 
exhausted rider, went down, as all had expected, before the 
well-aimed lance and vigorous steed of the Templar. This 
issue of the combat all had foreseen ; but although the spear 
of Ivanhoe did but, in comparison, touch the shield of Bois- 
Guilbert, that champion, to the astonishment of all who beheld 
it, reeled in his saddle, lost his stirrups, and fell in the lists. 

Ivanhoe, extricating himself from his fallen horse, was soon 
On foot, hastening to mend his fortune with his sword; but 
his antagonist arose not. Wilfred, placing his foot on his 
breast, and the sword’s point to his throat, commanded him to 
yield him, or die on the spot. Bois-Guilbert returned no an- 
swer. 


IVANHOE 


467 


‘ Slay him not, Sir Knight,’ cried the Grand Master, ‘un- 
shnven and unabsolved; kill not body and soul! We allow 
him vanquished/ 

He descended into the lists, and commanded them to un- 
helm the conquered champion. His eyes were closed ; the dark 
red flush was still on his brow. As they looked on him in 
astonishment, the eyes opened ; but they were fixed and glazed. 
The flush passed froni his brow, and gave way to the pallid hue 
of death. Unscathed by the lance of his enemy, he had died 
a victim to the violence of his own contending passions. 

" This is indeed the judgment of God,’ said the Grand Mas- 
ter,- looking upwards — 'Fiat voluntas tua!' 

COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

Make a sketch of the lists. 

For what effect are the black slaves introduced ? 

Describe the comic scene while the spectators are waiting for the pro- 
cession. 

Who is the man disguised as a minstrel ? 

Describe the whole procedure in the judicial combat. 

Why is Bois-Guilbert unwilling to make the oath that his quarrel is 
just ?— What subterfuge is adopted ? 

What request of Rebecca is granted by the Grand Master ? 

Give an account of the Templar’s last appeal to Rebecca ? 

Ivanhoe was to be strong enough to bear arms eight days after the 
tournament at Ashby.' How many days have elapsed since then ? 

What is the cause of the Templar’s death ?— Notice that Scott adds to 
its impressiveness by representing it as ‘the judgment of God.’ 

The death of the Templar, it may be interesting to know, was taken 
from life. Dockhart in his Dife of Sir Walter Scott (Vol. IV. Ch. X.) 
quotes Mrs. Skene, one of Scott’s friends, as saying ; ‘ Dining with us 
one day, not long before Ivanhoe was begun, something that was 
mentioned led him to describe the sudden death of an advocate of his 
acquaintance, a Mr. Flphinstone, which occurred in the Outer-house 
soon after he was called to the bar. It was, he said, no wonder that it 
had left a vivid impression on his mind, for it was the first sudden death 
he ever witnessed ; and he now related it so as to make us all feel as if 
we had the scene passing before our eyes. In the death of the Templar 
in Ivanhoe, I recognised the very picture— I believe I may safely say, 
the very words.’ 


CHAPTEK XLIV 


So I now ’tis ended, like an old wife’s story. 

Webster. 

When” the first moments of surprise were over, Wilfred of 
Ivanhoe demanded of the Grand Master, as judge of the field, 
if he had manfully and rightfully done his duty in the com- 
bat. 

^Manfully and rightfully hath it been done,’ said the 
Grand Master; pronounce the maiden free and guiltless. 
The arms and the body of the deceased knight are at the will 
of the victor.’ 

^ I will not despoil him of his weapons,’ said the Knight of 
Ivanhoe, ^nor condemn his corpse to shame: he hath fought 
for Christendom. God’s arm, no human hand, hath this day 
struck him down. But let his obsequies be private, as becomes 
those of a man who died in an unjust quarrel. And for the 
maiden ’ 

He was interrupted by a clattering of horses’ feet, advancing 
in such numbers, and so rapidly, as to shake the ground before 
them ; and the Black Knight galloped into the lists. He was 
followed by a numerous band of men-at-arms, and several 
knights in complete armour. 

‘I am too late,’ he said, looking around him. had 
doomed Bois-Guilbert for mine own property. Ivanhoe, was 
this well, to take on thee such a venture, and thou scarce able 
to keep thy saddle ? ’ 

^Heaven, my Liege,’ answered Ivanhoe, Miath taken this 
proud man for its victim. He w^as not to be honoured in dying 
as your will had designed.’ 

^ Peace be with him,’ said Eichard, looking steadfastly on 
the corpse, ^ if it may be so ; he was a gallant knight, and has 
died in his steel harness full knightly. But we must waste no 
time. Bohun, do thine office ! ’ 

A knight stepped forward from the King’s attendants, and, 
468 


IVANHOE 


469 


laying his hand on the shoulder of Albert de Malvoisin, said, 
‘ I arrest thee of high treason/ 

The Grand Master had hitherto stood astonished at the 
appearance of so many warriors. He now spoke. 

‘ Who dares to arrest a knight of the Temple of Zion, within 
the girth of his own preceptory, and in the presence of the 
Grand Master? and by whose authority is this bold outrage 
offered?’ 

‘ I make the arrest,’ replied the knight — ^ I, Henry Bohun, 
Earl of Essex, Lord High Constable of England.’ 

^ And he arrests Malvoisin,’ said the King, raising his visor, 
‘ by the order of Eichard Plantagenet, here present. Conrade 
Mont-Fitchet, it is well for thee thou art born no subject of 
mine. But for thee, Malvoisin, thou diest with thy brother 
Philip ere the world be a week older.’ 

‘ I will resist thy doom,’ said the Grand Master. 

^ Proud Templar,’ said the King, ^ thou canst not : look up, 
and behold the royal standard of England floats over thy 
towers instead of thy Temple banner ! Be wise, Beaumanoir, 
and make no bootless opposition. Thy hand is in the lion’s 
mouth.’ 

^ I will appeal to Eome against thee,’ said the Grand Master, 
^ for usurpation on the immunities and privileges of our order.’ 

^ Be it so,’ said the King ; ‘ but for thine own sake tax me 
not with usurpation now. Dissolve thy chapter, and depart 
with thy followers to thy next preceptory, if thou canst find 
one which has not been made the scene of treasonable con- 
spiracy against the King of England. Or, if thou wilt, re- 
main, to share our hospitality, and behold our justice.’ 

^ To be a guest in the house where I should command ? ’ 
said the Templar ; ‘ never ! Chaplains, raise the Psalm, Quare 
fremuerunt gentes? Knights, squires, and followers of the 
Holy Temple, prepare to follow the banner of Beaus eant ! ’ 

The Grand Master spoke with a dignity which confronted 
even that of England’s king himself, and inspired courage into 
his surprised and dismayed followers. They gathered around 
him like the sheep around the watch-dog, when they hear the 
baying of the wolf. But they evinced not the timidity of the 
scared flock: there were dark brows of defiance, and looks 
which menaced the hostility they dared not to proffer in 
words. They drew together in a dark line of spears, from 
which the white cloaks of the knights were visible among the 


470 


IVANHOE 


dusky garments of their retainers, like the lighter-coloured 
edges of a sable cloud. The multitude, who had raised a 
clamorous shout of reprobation, paused and gazed in silence on 
the formidable and experienced body to which they had un- 
warily hade defiance, and shrunk back from their front. 

The Earl of Essex, when he beheld them pause in their 
assembled force, dashed the rowels into his charger’s sides, and 
galloped backwards and forwards to array his followers, in 
opposition to a band so formidable. Eichard alone, as if he 
loved the danger his presence had provoked, rode slowly along 
the front of the Templars, calling aloud, ^ What, sirs ! Among 
so many gallant knights, will none dare splinter a spear with 
Richard ? Sirs of the Temple ! your ladies are but sun-burned, 
if they are not worth the shiver of a broken lance ! ’ 

‘ The brethren of the Temple,’ said the Grand Master, riding 
forward in advance of their body, ^ fight not on such idle and 
profane quarrel ; and not with thee, Richard of England, shall 
a Templar cross lance in my presence. The Pope and princes 
of Europe shall judge our quarrel, and whether a Christian 
prince has done well in bucklering the cause which thou hast 
to-day adopted. If unassailed, we depart assailing no one. 
To thine honour we refer the armour and household goods of 
the order which we leave behind us, and on thy conscience 
we lay the scandal and offence thou hast this day given to 
Christendom.’ 

With these words, and without waiting a reply, the Grand 
Master gave the signal of departure. Their trumpets sounded 
a wild march, of an Oriental character, which formed the 
usual signal for the Templars to advance. They changed their 
array from a line to a column of march, and moved off as 
slowly as their horses could step, as if to show it was only the 
will of their Grand Master, and no fear of the opposing and 
superior force, which compelled them to withdraw. 

^ By the splendour of Our Lady’s brow ! ’ said King Rich- 
ard, ‘ it is pity of their lives that these Templars are not so 
trusty as they are disciplined and valiant.’ 

The multitude, like a timid cur which waits to bark till the 
object of its challenge has turned his back, raised a feeble 
shout as the rear of the squadron left the ground. 

During the tumult which attended the retreat of the Tem- 
plars, Rebecca saw and heard nothing: she was locked in the 
arms of her aged father, giddy, and almost senseless, with the 


IVANHOE 


471 


rapid change of circumstances around her. But one word 
from Isaac at length recalled her scattered feelings. 

^ Let us go/ he said, my dear daughter, my recovered treas- 
ure — let us go to throw ourselves at the feet of the good 
youth.^ 

^ Not so/ said Eehecca. ^ 0 no — no — no ; I must not at 
this moment dare to speak to him. Alas ! I should say more 
than No, my father, let us instantly leave this evil place.’ 

^But, my daughter/ said Isaac, Ho leave him who hath 
come forth like a strong man with his spear and shield, hold- 
ing his life as nothing, so he might redeem thy captivity; and 
thou, too, the daughter of a people strange unto him and his — 
this is service to be thankfully acknowledged.’ 

^ It is — it is — most thankfully — most devoutly acknowl- 
edged,’ said Rebecca ; ^ it shall be still more so — but not now — 
for the sake of thy beloved Rachael, father, grant my request 
— not now ! ’ 

‘Nay, but/ said Isaac, insisting, ‘they will deem us more 
thankless than mere dogs ! ’ 

‘ But thou seest, my dear father, that King Richard is in 
presence, and that ’ 

‘ True, my best — my wisest Rebecca. Let us hence — let us 
hence! Money he will lack, for he has just returned from 
Palestine, and, as they say, from prison; and pretext for ex- 
acting it, should he need any, may arise out of my simple 
traffic with his brother John. Away — away, let us hence ! ’ 

And hurrying his daughter in his turn, he conducted her 
from the lists, and by means of conveyance which he had 
provided, transported her safely to the house of the Rabbi 
Nathan. 

The Jewess, whose fortunes had formed the principal inter- 
est of the day, having now retired unobserved, the attention of 
the populace was transferred to the Black Knight. They now 
filled the air with ‘Long life to Richard with the Lion’s 
Heart, and down with the usurping Templars ! ’ 

Notwithstanding all this lip-loyalty/ said Ivanhoe to the 
Earl of Essex, ‘ it was well the King took the precaution to 
bring thee with him, noble Earl, and so many of thy trusty 
followers.’ 

The Earl smiled and shook his head. 

‘ Gallant Ivanhoe/ said Essex, ‘ dost thou know our master 
so well, and yet -suspect him of taking so wise a precaution! 


472 


IVANHOE 


I was drawing towards York, having heard that Prince John 
was making head there, when I met King Eichard, like a true 
knight-errant, galloping hither to achieve in his own person 
this adventure of the Templar and the Jewess, with his own 
single arm. I accompanied him with my band, almost maugre 
his consent.’ 

^ And what news from York, brave Earl ? ’ said Ivanhoe ; 
^ will the rebels bide us there ? ’ 

^ No more than December’s snow will bide July’s sun,’ said 
the Earl ; ^ they are dispersing ; and who should come posting 
to bring us the news, but John himself ! ’ 

^ The traitor ! — the ungrateful, insolent traitor ! ’ said Ivan- 
hoe ; ^ did not Eichard order him into confinement ? ’ 

^ 0 ! he received him,’ answered the Earl, ‘ as if they had 
met after a hunting party ; and, pointing to me and our men- 
at-arms, said, Thou seest, brother, I have some angry men 
with me; thou wert best go to our mother, carry her my 
duteous affection, and abide with her until men’s minds are 
pacified.” ’ 

‘ And this was all he said ? ’ inquired Ivanhoe ; ^ would not 
any one say that this prince invites men to treason by his 
clemency ? ’ 

^ J ust,’ replied the Earl, ^ as the man may be said to invite 
death who undertakes to fight a combat, having a dangerous 
wound unhealed.’ 

'I forgive thee the jest. Lord Earl,’ said Ivanhoe; ^but, 
remember, I hazarded but my own life — Eichard, the welfare 
of his kingdom.’ 

‘ Those,’ replied Essex, ^ who are specially careless of their 
own welfare are seldom remarkably attentive to that of others. 
But let us haste to the castle, for Eichard meditates punish- 
ing some of the subordinate members of the conspiracy, though 
he has pardoned their principal.’ 

From the judicial investigations which followed on this 
occasion, and which are given at length in the Wardour Manu- 
script, it appears that Maurice de Bracy escaped beyond seas, 
and went into the service of Philip of France, while Philip de 
Malvoisin and his brother Albert, the preceptor of Temple- 
stowe, were executed, although Waldemar Fitzurse, the soul of 
the conspiracy, escaped with banishment, and Prince John, for 
whose behoof it was undertaken, was not even censured by his 
good-natured brother. No one, however, pitied the fate of 


IVANHOE 


473 


the two Malvoisins, who only suffered the death which they 
had both well deserved, by many acts of falsehood, cruelty, and 
oppression. 

Briefly after the judicial combat, Cedric the Saxon was 
summoned to the court of Richard, which, for the purpose of 
quieting the counties that had been disturbed by the ambi- 
tion of his brother, was then held at York. Cedric tushed and 
pshawed more than once at the message; but he refused not 
obedience. In fact, the return of Richard had quenched every 
hope that he had entertained of restoring a Saxon dynasty in 
England ; for, whatever head the Saxons might have made 
in the event of a civil war, it was plain that nothing could be 
done under the undisputed dominion of Richard, popular as 
he was by his personal good qualities and military fame, al- 
though his administration was wilfully careless — now too in- 
dulgent and now allied to despotism. 

But, moreover, it could not escape even Cedric’s reluctant 
observation that his project for an absolute union among 
the Saxons, by the marriage of Rowena and Athelstane, was 
now completely at an end, by the mutual dissent of both 
parties concerned. This was, indeed, an event which, in his 
ardour for the Saxon cause, he could not have anticipated; 
and even when the disinclination of both was broadly and 
plainly manifested, he could scarce bring himself to believe 
that two Saxons of royal descent should scruple, on personal 
grounds, at an alliance so necessary for the public weal of the 
nation. But it was not the less certain. Rowena had always 
expressed her repugnance to Athelstane, and now Athelstane 
was no less plain and positive in proclaiming his resolution 
never to pursue his addresses to the Lady Rowena. Even the 
natural obstinacy of Cedric sunk beneath these obstacles, 
where he, remaining on the point of junction, had the task of 
dragging a reluctant pair up to it, one with each hand. He 
made, however, a last vigorous attack on Athelstane, and he 
found that resuscitated sprout of Saxon royalty engaged, like 
country squires of our own day, in a furious war with the 
clergy. 

It seems that, after all his deadly menaces against the 
abbot of St. Edmund’s, Athelstane’s spirit of revenge, what be- 
tween the natural indolent kindness of his own disposition, 
what through the prayers of his mother Edith, attached, like 
most ladies (of the period), to the clerical order, had termi- 


474 


lYANHOE 


nated in his keeping the abbot and his monks in the dungeons 
of Coningsburgh for three days on a meagre diet. For this 
atrocity the abbot menaced him with excommunication, and 
made out a dreadful list of complaints in the bowels and 
stomach, suffered by himself and his monks, in consequence of 
the tyrannical and unjust imprisonment they had sustained. 
With this controversy, and with the means he had adopted to 
counteract this clerical persecution, Cedric found the mind of 
his friend Athelstane so fully occupied, that it had no room for 
another idea. And when Eowena’s name was mentioned, the 
noble Athelstane prayed leave to quaff a full goblet to her 
health, and that she might soon be the bride of his kinsman 
Wilfred. It was a desperate case, therefore. There was ob- 
viously no more to be made of Athelstane; or, as Wamba 
expressed it, in a phrase which has descended from Saxon 
times to ours, he was a cock that would not fight. 

There remained betwixt Cedric and the determination which 
the lovers desired to come to only two obstacles — his own 
obstinacy, and his dislike of the Norman dynasty. The former 
feeling gradually gave way before the endearments of his ward 
and the pride which he could not help nourishing in the fame 
of his son. Besides, he was not insensible to the honour of 
allying his own line to that of Alfred, when the superior claims 
of the descendant of Edward the Confessor were abandoned 
for ever. Cedric’s aversion to the Norman race of kings was 
also much undermined — first, by consideration of. the impossi- 
bility of ridding England of the new dynasty, a feeling which 
goes far to create loyalty in the subject to the king de facto ; 
and, secondly, by the personal attention of King Richard, who 
delighted in the blunt humour of Cedric, and, to use the lan- 
guage of the Wardour Manuscript, so dealt with the noble 
Saxon that, ere he had been a guest at court for seven days, he 
had given his consent to the marriage of his ward Rowena and 
his son Wilfred of Ivanhoe. 

The nuptials of our hero, thus formally approved by his 
father, were celebrated in the most august of temples, the 
noble minster of York. The King himself attended, and, 
from the countenance which he afforded on this and other oc- 
casions to the distressed and hitherto degraded Saxons, gave 
them a safer and more certain prospect of attaining their just 
rights than they could reasonably hope from the precarious 
chance of a civil war. The church gave her full solemnities, 


IVANHOE 


475 


graced with all the splendour which she of Eome knows how 
to apply with such brilliant effect. 

Gurth, gallantly apparelled, attended as esquire upon his 
young master, whom he had served so faithfully, and the mag- 
nanimous Wamba, decorated with a new cap and a most gor- 
geous set of silver bells. Sharers of Wilfred’s dangers and 
adversity, they remained, as they had a right to expect, the 
partakers of his more prosperous career. 

But, besides this domestic retinue, these distinguished nup- 
tials were celebrated by the attendance of the high-born Nor- 
mans, as well as Saxons, joined with the universal jubilee of 
the lower orders, that marked the marriage of two individuals 
as a pledge of the future peace and harmony betwixt two races, 
which, since that period, have been so completely mingled that 
the distinction has become wholly invisible. Cedric lived to 
see this union approximate towards its completion ; for, as the 
two nations mixed in society and formed intermarriages with 
each other, the Normans abated their scorn, and the Saxons 
were refined from their rusticity. But it was not until the 
reign of Edward the Third that the mixed language, now 
termed English, was spoken at the court of London, and that 
the hostile distinction of Norman and Saxon seems entirely to 
have disappeared. 

It was upon the second morning after this happy bridal 
that the La% Kowena was made acquainted by her handmaid 
Elgitha, that a damsel desired admission to her presence, and 
solicited that their parley might be without witness. Rowena 
wondered, hesitated, became curious, and ended by command- 
ing the damsel to be admitted, and her attendants to with- 
draw. 

She entered — a noble and commanding figure, the long 
white veil, in which she was shrouded, overshadowing rather 
than concealing the elegance and majesty of her shape. Her 
demeanour was that of respect, unmingled by the least shade 
either of fear or of a wish to propitiate favour. Rowena was 
ever ready to acknowledge the claims, and attend to the feel- 
ings, of others. She arose, and would have conducted her 
lovely visitor to a seat ; but the stranger looked at Elgitha, and 
again intimated a wish to discourse with the Lady Rowena 
alone. Elgitha had no sooner retired with unwilling steps 
than, to the surprise of the Lady of Ivanhoe, her fair visitant 
kneeled on one knee, pressed her hands to her forehead, and 


476 


lYANHOE 


bending her head to the ground, in spite of Eowena’s resist- 
ance, kissed the embroidered hem of her tunic. 

^ '^at means this, lady ? ^ said the surprised bride ; ^ or why 
do you offer to me a deference so unusual ? ’ 

^Because to 3^ou, Lady of Ivanhoe,’ said Eebecca, rising 
up and resuming the usual quiet dignity of her manner, 
‘ I may lawfully, and without rebuke, pay the debt of grati- 
tude which I owe to Wilfred of Ivanhoe. I am — forgive the 
boldness which has offered to you the homage of my country 
— I am the unhappy Jewess for whom your husband hazarded 
his life against such fearful odds in the tiltyard of Temple- 
stowe.^ 

^ Damsel,’ said Eowena, ^ Wilfred of Ivanhoe on that day 
rendered back but in slight measure your unceasing charity 
towards him in his wounds and misfortunes. Speak, is there 
aught remains in which he or I can serve thee ? ’ 

‘ Nothing,’ said Eebecca, calmly, ^ unless you will transmit 
to him my grateful farewell.’ 

^ You leave England, then ? ’ said Eowena, scarce recovering 
the surprise of this extraordinary visit. 

^ I leave it, lady, ere this moon again changes. My father 
hath a brother high in favour with Mohammed Boadbil, King 
of Grenada : thither we go, secure of peace and protection, for 
the payment of such ransom as the Moslem exact from our 
people.’ 

^ And are you not then as well protected in England ? ’ said 
Eowena. ‘ My husband has favour with the King ; the King 
himself is just and generous.’ 

^Lady,’ said Eebecca, doubt it not; but the people of 
England are a fierce race, quarrelling ever with their neigh- 
bours or among themselves, and ready to plunge the sword 
into the bowels of each other. Such is no safe abode for 
the children of my people. Ephraim is an heartless dove; 
Issachar an over-laboured drudge, which stoops between two 
burdens. Not in a land of war and blood, surrounded by hos- 
tile neighbours, and distracted by internal factions, can Israel 
hope to rest during her wanderings.’ 

^But you, maiden,’ said Eowena — ^you surely can have 
nothing to fear. She who nursed the sick-bed of Ivanhoe,’ 
she continued, rising with enthusiasm — ^ she can have nothing 
to fear in England, where Saxon and Norman will contend 
who shall most do her honour.’ 


IVANHOE 


477 


^ Thy speech is fair, lady,’ said Eebecca, ^ and thy purpose 
fairer ; hut it may not be — there is a gulf betwixt us. Our 
breeding, our faith, alike forbid either to pass over it. Fare- 
well; yet, ere I go, indulge me one request. The bridal veil 
hangs over thy face; deign to raise it, and let me see the 
features of which fame speaks so highly.’ 

^ They are scarce worthy of being looked upon,’ said Eow- 
ena ; ^ but, expecting the same from my visitant, I remove the 
veil.’ 

She took it off accordingly ; and, partly from the conscious- 
ness of beauty, partly from bashfulness, she blushed so in- 
tensely that cheek, brow, neck, and bosom were suffused with 
crimson. Eebecca blushed also ; but it was a momentary feel- 
ing, and, mastered by higher emotions, passed slowly from her 
features like the crimson cloud which changes colour when the 
sun sinks beneath the horizon. 

^ Lady,’ she said, ^ the countenance you have deigned to show 
me will long dwell in my remembrance. There reigns in it 
gentleness and goodness; and if a tinge of the world’s pride 
or vanities may mix with an expression so lovely, how should 
we chide that which is of earth for bearing some colour of its 
original? Long, long will I remember your features, and 
bless God that I leave my noble deliverer united with ’ 

She stopped short — her eyes filled with tears. She hastily 
wiped them, and answered to the anxious inquiries of Eowena 
— ^ I am well, lady — well. But my heart swells when I think 
of Torquilstone and the lists of Templestowe. Farewell. One, 
the most trifling, part of my duty remains undischarged. 
Accept this casket ; startle not at its contents.’ 

Eowena opened the small silver-chased casket, and perceived 
a carcanet, or necklace, with ear-jewels, of diamonds, which 
were obviously of immense value. 

^ It is impossible,’ she said, tendering back the casket. ^ I 
dare not accept a gift of such consequence.’ 

^Yet keep it, lady,’ returned Eebecca. ^You have power, 
rank, command, influence ; we have wealth, the source both of 
our strength and weakness ; the value of these toys, ten times 
multiplied, would not influence half so much as your slightest 
wish. To you, therefore, the gift is of little value ; and to me, 
what I part with is of much less. Let me not think you deem 
so wretchedly ill of my nation as your commons believe. 
Think ye that I prize these sparkling fragments of stone above 


478 


IVANHOE 


my liberty? or that my father values them in comparison to 
the honour of his only child ? Accept them, lady — to me they 
are valueless. I will never wear jewels more.’ 

^ You are then unhappy ! ’ said Rowena, struck with the 
manner in which Rebecca uttered the last words. ^ 0, remain 
with us; the counsel of holy men will wean you from your 
erring law, and I will be a sister to you.’ 

^ No, lady,’ answered Rebecca, the same calm melancholy 
reigning in her soft voice and beautiful features; ‘that may 
not be. I may not change the faith of my fathers like a 
garment unsuited to the climate in which I seek to dwell ; and 
unhappy, lady, I will not be. He to whom I dedicate my 
future life will be my comforter, if I do His will.’ 

‘ Have you then convents, to one of which you mean to 
retire ? ’ asked Rowena. 

‘No, lady,’ said the Jewess; ‘but among our people, since 
the time of Abraham downwards, have been women who have 
devoted their thoughts to Heaven, and their actions to works 
of kindness to men — ^tending the sick, feeding the hungry, 
and relieving the distressed. Among these will Rebecca be 
numbered. Say this to thy lord, should he chance to inquire 
after the fate of her whose life he saved.’ 

There was an involuntary tremour on Rebecca’s voice, and 
a tenderness of accent, which perhaps betrayed more than she 
would willingly have expressed. She hastened to bid Rowena 
adieu. 

‘ Farewell,’ she said. ‘ May He who made both Jew and 
Christian shower down on you His choicest blessings ! The 
bark that wafts us hence will be under weigh ere we can reach 
the port.’ 

She glided from the apartment, leaving Rowena surprised 
as if a vision had passed before her. The fair Saxon related 
the singular conference to her husband, on whose mind it made 
a deep impression. He lived long and happily with Rowena, 
for they were attached to each other by the bonds of early 
affection, and they loved each other the more from the recol- 
lection of the obstacles which had impeded their union. Yet 
it would be inquiring too curiously to ask whether the recol- 
lection of Rebecca’s beauty and magnanimity did not recur to 
his mind more frequently than the fair descendant of Alfred 
might altogether have approved. 

Ivanhoe distinguished himself in the service of Richard, and 


IVANHOE 


479 


was graced with farther marks of the royal favour. He might 
have risen still higher but for the premature death of the 
heroic Coeur-de-Lion, before the Castle of Chaluz, near 
Limoges. With the life of a generous, but rash and romantic, 
monarch perished all the projects which his ambition and his 
generosity had formed ; to whom may be applied, with a slight 
alteration, the lines composed by Johnson for Charles of 
Sweden — 


His fate was destined to a foreign strand, 

A petty fortress and an “ humble ” hand ; 

He left the name at which the world grew pale, 

To point a moral, or adorn a tale. 

COMMENTS AND QUESTIONS. 

Observe the varied incidents of this chapter, some of which are highly 
dramatic or picturesque, such as the arrest of the Preceptor of Temple- 
stowe, the proclamation of Richard, the stately withdrawal of the 
Templars, and the unveiling of Rebecca and Rowena. Scott’s disposal 
of each character should be noted. 

What characters have already dropped out of the story ? 

Is the conclusion wholly satisfactory ? 


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I 


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NOTES TO IVANHOE 


Note 1.— The Ranger of the Forest, p. 7 

A MOST sensible grievance of those aggrieved times were the Forest 
Laws. These oppressive enactments were the produce of the Norman 
Conquest, for the Saxon laws of the chase were mild and humane ; while 
those of William, enthusiastically attached to the exercise and its rights, 
were to the last degree tyrannical. The formation of the New Forest 
bears evidence to his passion for hunting, where he reduced many a happy 
village to the condition of that one commemorated by my friend, Mr. 
William Stewart Rose— 

Amongst the ruins of the church 

The midnight raven found a perch, 

A melancholy place ; 

The ruthless Conqueror cast down, 

Woe worth the deed, that little town, 

To lengthen out his chase. 

The disabling dogs, which might be necessary for keeping flocks and 
herds, from running at the deer was called lawing, and was in general 
use. The Charter of the Forest, designed to lessen those evils, declares 
that inquisition, or view, for la wing dogs shall be made every third year, 
and shall be then done by the view and testimony of lawful men, not 
otherwise ; and they whose dogs shall be then found unlawed shall give 
three shillings for mercy ; and for the future no man’s ox shall be taken 
for lawing. Such lawing also shall be done by the assize commonly used, 
and which is, that three claws shall be cut off without the ball of the 
right foot. See on this subject the Historical Essay on the Magna 
Cluirta of King John (a most beautiful volume), by Richard Thomson. 

Note 2.— Negro Slaves, p. 14 

The severe accuracy of some critics has objected to the complexion of 
the slaves of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, as being totally out of costume and 
propriety. I remember the same objection being made to a set of sable 
functionaries whom my friend. Mat Lewis, introduced as the guards and 
mischief-doing satellites of the wicked Baron in his Castle Spectre. Mat 
treated the objection with great contempt, and averred in reply, that he 
made the slaves black in order to obtain a striking effect of contrast, 
and that, could he have derived a similar advantage from making his 
heroine blue, blue she should have been. 

I do not pretend to plead the immunities of my order so highly as this ; 
but neither will I allow that the author of a modern antique romance is 
obliged to confine himself to the introduction of those manners only 
which can be proved to have absolutely existed in the times he is de- 
picting, so that he restrain himself to such as are plausible and natural, 
and contain no obvious anachronism. In this point of view, what can be 
more natural than that the Templars, who, we know, copied closely the 

481 


482 


NOTES 


luxuries of the Asiatic warriors with whom they fought, should use the 
service of the enslaved Africans whom the fate of war transferred to 
new masters ? I am sure, if there are no precise proofs of their having 
done so, there is nothing, on the other hand, that can entitle us posi- 
tively to conclude that they never did. Besides, there is an instance in 
romance. 

John of Rampayne, an excellent juggler and minstrel, undertook to 
effect the escape of one Audulf de Bracy, by presenting himself in dis- 
guise at the court of the king, where he was confined. For this purpose, 
he stained ‘his hair and his whole body entirely as black as jet, so that 
nothing was white but his teeth,’ and succeeded in imposing himself on the 
king as an Ethiopian minstrel. He effected, by stratagem, the escape 
of the prisoner. Negroes, therefore, must have been known in England 
in the dark ages.* 


Note 3.— Cnichts, p. 28 

The original has cnichts, by which the Saxons seem to have desig- 
nated a class of military attendants, sometimes free, sometimes bonds- 
men, but always ranking above an ordinary domestic, whether in the 
royal household or in those of the aldermen and thanes. But the term 
cnicht, now spelt knight, having been received into the English lan- 
guage as equivalent to the Norman word chevalier, I have avoided 
using it in its more ancient sense, to prevent confusion.— L. T. 

Note 4.— Morat and Pigment, p. 30 

These were drinks used by the Saxons, as we are informed by Mr. 
Turner. Morat was made of honey flavoured with the juice of mulber- 
ries ; pigment was a sweet and rich liquor, composed of wine highly 
spiced, and sweetened also with honey ; the other liquors need no ex- 
planation.— L. T. 

Note 5.— Sir Tristrem, p. 43 

There was no language which the Normans more formally separated 
from that of common life than the terms of the chase. The objects of 
their pursuit, whether bird or animal, changed their name each year, and 
there were a hundred conventional terms, to be ignorant of which was 
to be without one of the distinguishing marks of a gentleman. The 
reader may consult Dame Juliana Berners’s book on the subject. The 
origin of this science was imputed to the celebrated Sir Tristrem, famous 
for his tragic intrigue with the beautiful Ysolte. As the Normans re- 
served the amusement of hunting strictly to themselves, the terms of 
this formal jargon were all taken from the French language. 

Note 6.— Lines from Coleridge, p. 80 

These lines are part of an unpublished poem by Coleridge, whose muse 
so often tantalises with fragments which indicate her powers, while the 
manner in which she flings them from her betrays her caprice, yet 
whose unfinished sketches display more talent than the labored master- 
pieces of others. 


Note 7.— Nidering, p. 145 

There was nothing accounted so ignominious among the Saxons as to 
merit this disgraceful epithet. Even William the Conqueror, hated as 


* ‘Dissertation on Romance and Minstrelsy,’ prefixed to Ritgon’s Ancient 
Metrical Romances, p. clxxxvii. 


NOTES 


483 


he was by them, continued to draw a considerable army of Anglo-Sax- 
ons to his standard by threatening to stigmatise those who staid at 
home as nidering. Bartholinus, I think, mentions a similar phrase 
which had like influence on the Danes.— L. T. 

Note 8.— The Jolly Hermit, p. 167 

All readers, however slightly acquainted with black letter, must recog- 
nise in the clerk of Copmanhurst, Friar Tuck, the buxom confessor of 
Robin Hood’s gang, the curtal friar of Fountain’s Abbey. 

Note 9.— Minstrelsy, p. 168 

The realm of France, it is well known, was divided betwixt the Nor- 
man and Teutonic race, who spoke the language in which the word ‘ yes ’ 
is pronounced as oui, and the inhabitants of the southern regions, whose 
speech, bearing some affinity to the Italian, pronounced the same word 
oc. The poets of the former race were called minstrels^ and their poems 
lays; those of the latter were termed troubadours and their compo- 
sitions called sirventes and other names. Richard, a professed admirer 
of the joyous science in all its branches, could imitate either the minstrel 
or troubadour. It is less likely that he should have been able to com- 
pose or sing an English ballad ; yet so much do we wish to assimilate 
him of the Lion Heart to the land of the warriors whom he led, that the 
anachronism, if there be one, may readily be forgiven. 

Note 10.— Derry-down^ Chorus, p. 170 

It may be proper to remind the reader that the chorus of ‘derry- 
down ’ is supposed to be as ancient, not only as the times of the Hep- 
tarchy, but as those of the Druids, and to have furnished the chorus to 
the hymns of those venerable persons when they went to the wood to 
gather mistletoe. 

Note li.— B attle of Stamford, p. 203 

A great topographical blunder occurred here in former editions. The 
bloody battle alluded to in the text, fought and won by King Harold, 
over his brother the rebellious Tosti, and an auxiliary force of Danes or 
Norsemen, was said, in the text and a corresponding note, to have taken 
place at Stamford, in Leicestershire [Lincolnshire], and upon the river 
Welland. This is a mistake into which the Author has been led by 
trusting to his memory, and so confounding two places of the same 
name. The Stamford, Strangford, or Staneford at which the battle 
really was fought is a ford upon the river Derwent, at the distance of 
about seven [nine] miles from York, and situated in that large and 
opulent county. A long wooden bridge over the Derwent, the site of 
which, with one remaining buttress, is still shown to the curious travel- 
ler, was furiously contested. One Norwegian long defended it by his , 
single arm, and was at length pierced with a spear thrust through the 
planks of the bridge from a boat beneath. 

The neighbourhood of Stamford, on the Derwent, contains some memo- 
rials of the battle. Horse-shoes, swords, and the heads of halberds, or 
bills, are often found there ; one place is called the Danes well, am 
other the ‘ Battle flats.’ From a tradition that the weapon with which 
the Norwegian champion was slain resembled a pear, or, as others say, 
that the trough or boat in which the soldier floated under the bridge to 
strike the blow had such a shape, the country people usually begin a 
erreat market which is held at Stamford with an entertainment called 
the Pear-pie feast, which, after all, may be a corruption of the Spear-pie 


484 


NOTES 


feast. For more particulars, Drake’s History of York may be referred 
to. The Author’s mistake was pointed out to him, in the most obliging 
manner, by Robert Belt, Esq., of Bossal House. The battle was fought 
in 1066. 

Note 12.— Torture, p. 212 

This horrid species of torture may remind the reader of that to which 
the Spaniards subjected Guatemozin, in order to extort a discovery of 
his concealed wealth. But, in fact, an instance of similar barbarity is to 
be found nearer home, and occurs in the annals of Queen Mary’s time, 
containing so many other examples of atrocity. Every reader must 
recollect that, after the fall of the Catholic Church, and the Presbyterian 
Church government had been established by law, the rank, and es- 
pecially the wealth, of the bishops, abbots, priors, and so forth, were 
no longer vested in ecclesiastics, but in lay impropriators of the church 
revenues, or, as the Scottish lawyers called them, titulars of the tem- 
poralities of the benefice, though having no claim to the spiritual char- 
acter of their predecessors in office. 

Of these laymen who were thus invested with ecclesiastical revenues, 
some were men of high birth and rank, like the famous Lord James 
Stuart, the prior of St. Andrews, who did not fail to keep for their own 
use the rents, lands, and revenues of the church. But if, on the other 
hand, the titulars were men of inferior importance, who had been in- 
ducted into the office by the interest of some powerful person, it was 
generally understood that the new abbot should grant for his patron’s 
benefit such leases and conveyances of the church lands and tithes as 
might afford their protector the lion’s share of the booty. This was the 
origin of those who were wittily termed Tulchan * Bishops, being a sort 
of imaginary prelate, whose image was set up to enable his patron and 
principal to plunder the benefice under his name. 

There were other cases, however, in which men who had got grants of 
these secularised benefices were desirous of retaining them for their 
own use, without having the infiuence sufficient to establish their pur- 
pose ; and these became frequently unable to protect themselves, how- 
ever unwilling to submit to the exactions of the feudal tyrant of the 
district. 

Bannatyne, secretary to John Knox, recounts a singular course of 
oppression practised on one of those titular abbots by the Earl of Cas- 
silis, in Ayrshire, whose extent of feudal infiuence was so wide that he 
was usually termed the King of Garrick, We give the fact as it occurs 
in Bannatyne’s Journal [pp. 55-67j, only premising that the Journalist 
held his master’s opinions, both with respect to the Earl of Cassilis as an 
opposer of the king’s party, and as being a detester of the practice of 
granting church revenues to titulars, instead of their being devoted to 
pious uses, such as the support of the clergy, expense of schools, and the 
relief of the national poor. He mingles in the narrative, therefore, a 
well-deserved feeling of execration against the tyrant who employed the 
torture, with a tone of ridicule towards the patient, as if, after all, it 
had not been ill-bestowed on such an equivocal 'and amphibious char- 
acter as a titular abbot. He entitles his narrative 

The Earl of Cassilis’ Tyranny against a Quick (i.e. Living) Man. 

‘ Master Allan Stewart, friend to Captain James Stewart of Cardonall, 
by means of the Queen’s corrupted court, obtained the abbacy of Cross- 


* A tulchan is a calf’s skin stuffed, and placed before a cow who has lost its calf, 
to induce the animal to part with her milk. The resemblance between such a 
tulchan and a bishop named to transmit the temporalities of a benefice to some 
powerful patron is easily understood. 


NOTES 


485 


raguel. The said Earl, thinking himself greater than any king in those 
quarters, determined to have that whole benefice (as he hath divers 
others) to pay at his pleasure ; and because he could not find sic security 
as his insatiable appetite required, this shift was devised. The said Mr. 
Allan, being in company with the Laird of Bargany, was, by the said 
Earl and his friends, enticed to leave the safeguard which he had with 
the said Laird, and come to make good cheer with the said Earl. The 
simplicity of the imprudent man was suddenly abused ; and so he passed 
his time with them certain days, which he did in Maybole with Thomas 
Kennedie, uncle to the said Earl ; after which the said Mr. Allan passed, 
with quiet company, to visit the place and bounds of Crossraguel, of 
which the said Earl being surely advertised, determined to put in prac- 
tice the tyranny which long before he had conceaved. And so, as king 
of the country, apprehended the said Mr. Allan, and carried him to the 
house of Dunure, where for a season he was honourably treated (gif a 
prisoner can think any entertainment pleasing) ; but after that certain 
days were spent, and that the Earl could not obtain the feus of Cross- 
raguel according to his awin appetite, he determined to prove gif a col- 
lation could work that which neither dinner nor supper could do for a 
long time. And so the said Mr. Allan was carried to a secret chamber ; 
with him passed the honourable Earl, his worshipful brother, and such 
as were appointed to be servants at that banquet. In the chamber 
there was a grit iron chimlay, under it a fire ; other grit provision was 
not seen. The first course was — “ My Lord Abbot,” said the Earl, “it 
will please you confess here, that with your own consent you remain in 
my company, because ye durst not commit yourself to the hands of 
others.” The Abbot answered, “Would you, my lord, that I should 
make a manifest lie for your pleasure ? The truth is, my lord, it is 
against my will that I am here ; neither yet have I any pleasure in your 
company.” “But ye shall remain with me at this time,” said the Earl. 
“I am not able to resist your will and pleasure,” said the Abbot, “ in 
this place.” “Ye must then obey me,” said the Earl ; and with that 
were presented unto him certain letters to subscribe, amongst which 
there was a five year tack, and a nineteen year tack, and a charter of 
feu of all the lands of Crossraguel, with all the clauses necessary for the 
Earl to haste him to hell. For gif adultery, sacrilege, oppression, bar- 
barous cruelty, and theft heaped upon theft, deserve hell, the great King 
of Carrick can no more escape hell for ever than the imprudent Abbot 
escaped the fire for a season as follows. 

‘ After that the Earl spied repugnance, and saw that he could not 
come to his purpose by fair means, he commanded his cooks to prepare the 
banquet : and so first they flayed the sheep, that is, they took off the Ab- 
bot’s cloathes even to his skin, and next they bound him to the chimney 
— his legs to the one end and his arms to the other ; and so they began to 
beet the fire sometimes to his buttocks, sometimes to his legs, sometimes 
to his shoulders and arms ; and that the roast should not burn, but that it 
might rest insoppe, they spared not fiambing with oil (Lord, look thou to 
sic cruelty !) And that the crying of the miserable man should not be 
heard, they closed his mouth that the voice might be stopped. It may be 
suspected that some practisiane [partisan] of the King’s [Darnley’sj mur- 
der was there. In that torment they held the poor man, till that oftimes 
he cried for God’s sake to dispatch him ; for he had as meikle gold in his 
awin purse as would buy powder enough to shorten his pain. The famous 
King of Carrick and his cooks, perceiving the roast to be aneuch, com- 
manded it to be tane fra the fire, and the Earl himself began the grace in 
this manner : “ Benedieite Jesus Maria, you are the most obstinate man 
that ever I saw ; gif I had known that ye had been so stubborn, I would 
not for a thousand crowns have handled you so ; I never did so to man be- 
fore you.” And yet he returned to the same practice within two days, 
and ceased not till that he obtained his formest purpose, that is, that he 


486 


NOTES 


had got all his pieces subscryvit alsweill as ane half-roasted hand could 
do it. The Earl thinking himself sure enough so long as he had the half- 
roasted Abbot in his awin keeping, and yet being ashamed of his pres- 
ence by reason of his former cruelty, left the place of Dunure in the 
hands of certain of his servants, and the half-roasted Abbot to be kept 
there as prisoner. The Laird of Bargany, out of whose company the 
said Abbot was enticed, understanding (not the extremity), but the re- 
taining of the man, sent to the court, and raised letters of deliverance of 
the person of the man according to the order, which being disobeyed, 
the said Earl for his contempt was denounced rebel, and put to the home. 
But yet hope was there none, neither to the afflicted to be delivered, 
neither yet to the purchaser [i. e. procurer] of the letters to obtain any 
comfort thereby ; for in that time God was despised, and the lawful 
authority was contemned in Scotland, in hope of the sudden return and 
regiment of that cruel murderer of her awin husband, of whose lords 
the said Earl was called one ; and yet, oftener than once, he was sol- 
emnly sworn to the King and to his Regent.’ 

The Journalist then recites the complaint of the misused Allan Stew- 
art, Commendator of Crossraguel, to the Regent and Privy Council, aver- 
ring his having been carried, partly by flattery, partly by force, to the 
black vault of Dunure, a strong fortalice, built on a rock overhanging the 
Irish Channel, where its ruins are still visible . Here he stated he had 
been required to execute leases and conveyances of the whole churches 
and parsonages belonging to the Abbey of Crossraguel, which he utterly 
refused as an unreasonable demand, and the more so that he had already 
conveyed them to John Stewart of Cardonall, by whose interest he had 
been made Commendator. The complainant proceeds to state that he 
was, after many menaces, stript, bound, and his limbs exposed to fire in 
the manner already described, till, compelled by excess of agony, he 
subscribed the charter and leases presented to him, of the contents of 
which he was totally ignorant. A few days afterwards, being again re- 
quired to execute a ratification of those deeds before a notary and wit- 
nesses, and refusing to do so, he was once more subjected to the same 
torture, until his agony was so excessive that he exclaimed, ‘ Fy on you, 
why do you not strike' your whingers into me, or blow me up with a 
barrel of power, rather than torture me thus unmercifully ?’ upon which 
the Earl commanded Alexander Richard, one of his attendants, to stop 
the patient’s mouth with a napkin, which was done accordingly. Thus 
he was once more compelled to submit to their tyranny. The petition 
concluded with stating that the Earl, under pretence of the deeds thus 
iniquitously obtained, had taken possession of the whole place and liv- 
ing of Crossraguel, and enjoyed the profits thereof for three years. 

The doom of the Regent and Council shows singularly the total inter- 
ruption of justice at this calamitous period, even in the most clamant 
cases of oppression. The Council declined interference with the course 
of the ordinary justice of the county (which was completely under the 
said Earl of Cassilis’s control), and only enacted that he should forbear 
molestation of the unfortunate Commendator, under the surety of two 
thousand pounds Scots. The Earl was appointed also to keep the peace 
towards the celebrated George Buchanan, who had a pension out of the 
same abbacy, to a similar extent, and under the like penalty. 

The consequences are thus described by the Journalist already 
quoted 

‘ The said Laird of Bargany, perceiving that the ordinerie justice 
(the oppressed as said is) could neither help him nor yet the afflicted, 
applied his mind to the next remedy, and in the end, by his servants, 
took the house of Denure, where the poor Abbot was kept prisoner. 
The bruit flew fra Carrick to Galloway, and so suddenly assembled herd 


NOTES 


487 


and hyre-man that pertained to the band of the Kennedies ; and so 
within a few hours was the house of Dunure environed again. The 
Master of Cassilis was the frackast, and would not stay, but in his heat 
would lay fire to the dungeon, with no small boasting that all enemies 
within the house should die. 

‘ He was required and admonished by those that were within to be more 
moderate, and not to hazard himself so foolishly. But no admonition 
would help, till that the wind of an hacquebute blasted his shoulder, and 
then ceased he from further pursuit in fury. The Laird of Bargany had 
before purchest [obtained] of the authorities, letters, charging all faith- 
full subjects to the King’s Majesty to assist him against that cruel tyrant 
and man-sworn traitor, the Earl of Cassilis ; which letters, with his pri- 
vate writings, he published, and shortly found sic concurrence of Kyle 
and Cunynghame with his other friends, that the Garrick company drew 
back fra the house ; and so the other approached, furnished the house 
with more men, delivered the said Mr. Allan, and carried him to Ayr, 
where, publicly at the market cross of the said town, he declared how 
cruelly he was entreated, and how the murdered King suffered not sic 
torment as he did, that only excepted he escaped the death ; and, there- 
fore, publicly did revoke all things that were done in that extremity, 
and especially he revoked the subscription of the three writings, to wit, 
of a fy ve yeir tak and nineteen yeir tak, and of a charter of feu. And so 
the house remained, and remains (till this day, the 7th of February 1571), 
in the custody of the said Laird of Bargany and of his servants. And so 
cruelty was disappointed of proffeit present, and shall be eternallie 
[punished], unless he earnestly repent. And this far for the cruelty 
committed, to give occasion unto others, and to such as hate the mon- 
strous dealing of degenerate nobility, to look more diligently upon their 
behaviours, and to paint them forth into the world, that they themselves 
may be ashamed of their own beastliness, and that the world may be 
advertised and admonished to abhor, detest, and avoid the company of 
all sic tyrants, who are not worthy of the society of men, but ought to 
be sent suddenly to the devil, with whom they must burn without end, 
for their contempt of God, and cruelty committed against his creatures. 
Let Cassilis and his brother be the first to be the example unto others. 
Amen. Amen.’ 


This extract has been somewhat amended or modernized in ortho- 
graphy to render it more intelligible to the general reader. I have to 
add, that the Kennedies of Bargany, who interfered in behalf of the op- 
pressed Abbot, were themselves a younger branch of the Cassilis fam- 
ily, but held different politics, and were powerful enough in this and 
other instances to bid them defiance. 

The ultimate issue of this affair does not appear ; but as the house of 
Cassilis are still in possession of the greater part of the feus and leases 
which belonged to Crossraguel Abbey, it is probable the talons of the 
King of Garrick were strong enough, in those disorderly times, to re- 
tain the prey which they had so mercilessly fixed upon. 

I may also add, that it appears by some papers in my possession that 
the officers or country keepers on the Border were accu^omed to tor- 
ment their prisoners by binding them to the iron bars of their chimneys 
to extort confession. 

Note 13 .— Mantelets and Pavisses, p. 269 


MflTitplpts were temporary and movable defences formed of planks, 
unde? cover oTwhich^^^^ advanced to the attack of fortified 

ffiaces ot old Pavisses were a species of large shields covering the whole 
person, employed on the same occasions. 


488 


NOTES 


Note 14.— Bolts and Shafts, p. 269 


The bolt was the arrow peculiarly fitted to the cross-bow, as that of 
the long-bow was called a shaft. Hence the English proverb—* I will 
either make a shaft or bolt of it,’ signifying a determination to make 
one use or other of the thing spoken of. 


Note 15.— Arblast, etc., p. 284 



The arblast was a cross-bow, the windlace the machine used in bend- 
ing that weapon, and the quarrell, so called from its square or diamond- 
shaped head, was the bolt adapted to it. 


Note 16.— Heraldry, p. 289 


The Author has been here upbraided with false heraldry, as having 
charged metal upon metal. It should be remembered, however, that 
heraldry had only its first rude origin during the crusades, and that all 
the minutise of its fantastic science were the work of time, and intro- 
duced at a much later period. Those who think otherwise must suppose 
that the Goddess of Arrnoirers, like the Goddess of Arms, sprung into 
the world completely equipped in all the gaudy trappings of the depart- 
ment she presides over. In corroboration of what is above stated, it may 
be observed, that the arms which were assumed by Godfrey of Boulogne 
himself, after the conquest of Jerusalem, was a cross counter potent 
cantoned with four little crosses or, upon a field azure, displaying thus 
metal upon metal. The heralds have tried to explain this undeniable 
fact in different modes ; but Feme gallantly contends that a prince of 
Godfrey’s qualities should not be bound by the ordinary rules. The 
Scottish Nisbet and the same Feme insist that the chiefs of the crusade 
must have assigned to Godfrey this extraordinary and unwonted coat-of- 
arms in order to induce those who should behold them to make inquiries ; 
and hence give them the name of arma inquirenda. But with rever- 
ence to these grave authorities, it seems unlikely that the assembled 
princes of Europe should have adjudged to Godfrey a coat armorial so 
much contrary to the general rule, if such rule had then existed ; at any 
rate, it proves that metal upon metal, now accounted a solecism in her- 
aldry, was admitted in other cases similar to that in the text. See 
Feme’s Blazon of Gentrie, p. 238 ; edition 1586. Nisbet’s Heraldry, vol. 
i. p. 113 ; second edition. 


Note 17.— Barriers, p. 291 


Every Gothic castle and city had, beyond the outer walls, a fortifica- 
tion composed of palisades, called the barriers, which were often the 
scene of severe skirmishes, as these must necessarily be carried before 
the walls themselves could be approached. Many 'of those valiant feats 
of arms which adorn the chivalrous pages of Froissart took place at the 
barriers of besieged places. 


Note 18.— Incident from Grand Cyrus, p. 314 


The Author has some idea that this passage is imitated from the ap- 
pearance of Fhilidaspes, before the divine Mandane, when the city of 
Babylon is on fire, and he proposes to carry her from the flames. But 
the theft, if there be one, would be rather too severely punished by the 
penance of searching for the original passage through the interminable 
volumes of the Grand Cyrus. 


NOTES 


489 


Note 19.— Ulrica’s Death-Song, p. 319. 

It will readily occur to the antiquary that these verses are intended to 
imitate the antique poetry of the Scalds — the minstrels of the old Scan- 
dinavians— the race, as the Laureate so happily terms them, 

Stern to inflict, and stubborn to endure, 

Who smiled in death. 

The poetry of the Anglo-Saxons, after their civilisation and conver- 
sion, was of a different and softer character ; but in the circumstances 
of Ulrica she may be not unnaturally supposed to return to the wild 
strains which animated her forefathers during the time of Paganism 
and untamed ferocity. 

Note 20.— Richard Coeur-de-Lion, p. 332 

The interchange of a cuff with the jolly priest is not entirely out of 
character with Richard I., if romances read him aright. In the very 
curious romance on the subject of his adventures in the Holy Land, and 
his return from thence, it is recorded how he exchanged a pugilistic 
favor of this nature while a prisoner in Germany. His opponent was 
the son of his principal warder, and was so imprudent as to give the 
challenge to this barter of buffets. The King stood forth like a true 
man, and received a blow which staggered him. In requital, having 
previously waxed his hand, a practice unknown, I believe, to the gentle- 
men of the modern fancy, he returned this box on the ear with such in- 
terest as to kill his antagonist on the spot. See in Ellis’s Specimens of 
Emjlish Romance, that of Cceur-de-Lion. 

Note 21.— Jorvaulx Abbey, p. 337 

This Cistercian abbey was situate in the pleasant valley of the river 
Jore, or Ure, in the North Riding of Yorkshire. It was erected in the 
year 1156, and was destroyed in 1537. For nearly three centuries, the 
ruins were left in a state nearly approaching to utter demolition ; but at 
length they were traced out and cleared at the expense of Thomas Earl of 
Aylesbury, in the year 1807. The name of the abbey occurs in a variety 
of forms, such as Jorvaulx, Jervaux, Gerveux, Gervaulx, Jorvall, Jore- 
vaux, etc. In Whitaker’s History of Richmondshire, vol. i., a ground- 
plan of the building is given, along with notices of the monuments of the 
old abbots and other dignitaries which are still preserved {Laing). 

Note 22.— Hedge-Priests, p. 345 

It is curious to observe, that in every state of society some sort of 
ghostly consolation is provided for the members of the community, 
though assembled for purposes diametrically opposite to religion. A 
gang of beggars have their patrico, and the banditti of the Apennines 
have among them persons acting as monks and priests, by whom they 
are confessed, and who perform mass before them. Unquestionably, 
such reverend persons, in such a society, must accommodate their man- 
ners and their morals to the community in which they live ; and if they 
can occasionally obtain a degree of reverence for their supposed spiritual 
gifts, are, on most occasions, loaded with unmerciful ridicule, as possess- 
ing a character inconsistent with all around them. 

Hence the fighting parson in the old play of Sir John Oldcastle, and 
the famous friar of Robin Hood’s band. Nor were such characters ideal. 
There exists a monition of the Bishop of Durham against irregular 
churchmen of this class, who associated themselves with Border robbers, 


490 


NOTES 


and desecrated the holiest offices of the priestly function, hy celebrating 
them for the benefit of thieves, robbers, and murderers, amongst ruins 
and in caverns of the earth, without regard to canonical form, and with 
torn and dirty attire, and maimed rites, altogether improper for the 
occasion. 


Note 23.— Slayers of Becket, p. 355 

Reginald Fitzurse, William de Tracy, Hugh de Morville, and Richard 
Brito were the gentlemen of Henry the Second’s household who, insti- 
gated by some passionate expressions of their sovereign, slew the cele- 
brated Thomas-a-Becket. 

Note 24.— Preceptories, p. 359 

The establishments of the Knights Templars were called preceptories, 
and the title of those who presided in the order was preceptor ; as the 
principal Knights of St. John were termed commanders, and their houses 
commanderies. But these terms were sometimes, it would seem, used 
indiscriminately.— Such an establishment formerly existed at Temple 
Newsam, in the West Riding, near Leeds (Laing). 

Note 25.— Ut leo semper feriatur, p. 363 

In the ordinances of the Knights of the Temple, this phrase is repeated 
in a variety of forms, and occurs in almost every chapter, as if it were 
the signal-word of the order ; which may account for its being so fre- 
quently put in the Grand Master’s mouth. 

Note 26.— Locksley, p. 429 

From the ballads of Robin Hood, we learn that this cebbrated outlaw, 
when in disguise, sometimes assumed the name of Locksley, from a vil- 
lage where he was born, but where situated we are not distinctly 
told,— 

According to tradition, a village of this name was the birthplace of 
Robin Hood, while the county in which it was situated ' remains unde- 
termined. There is a broadside printed about the middle of the 17th 
century with the title of A New Ballad of Bold Robin Hood, showing 
his birth, etc., calculated for the meridian of Staffordshire. But in 
the ballad itself, it says— 

In Locksley town, in merry Nottinp:hamshire, 

In merry sweet Locksley town, 

There bold Robin Hood, he was born and was bred, 

Bold Robin of famous renown. 

Ritson says, it may serve quite as well for Derbyshire or Kent as for 
Nottingham (Laing). 

Note 27.— Castle of Coningsburgh, p. 439 

When I last saw this interesting ruin of ancient days, one of the very 
few remaining examples of Saxon fortification, I was strongly im- 
pressed with the desire of tracing out a sort of theory on the subject, 
which, from some recent acquaintance with the architecture of the an- 
cient Scandinavians, seemed to me peculiarly interesting. I was, how- 
ever, obliged by circumstances to proceed on my journey, without lei- 
sure to take more than a transient view of Coningsburgh. Yet the idea 


NOTES 


491 


dwells so strongly in my mind, that I feel considerably tempted to write 
a page or two in detailing at least the outline of my hypothesis, leaving 
better antiquaries to correct or refute conclusions which are perhaps too 
hastily drawn. 

Those who have visited the Zetland Islands are familiar with the de- 
scription of castles called by the inhabitants burghs, and by the High- 
landers— for they are also to be found both in the Western Isles and on 
the mainland— duns. Pennant has engraved a view of the famous Dun 
Dornadilla in Glenelg ; and there are many others, all of them built 
after a peculiar mode of architecture, which argues a people in the most 
primitive state of society. The most perfect specimen is that upon the 
island of Mousa, near to the Mainland of Zetland, which is probably in 
the same state as when inhabited. 

It is a single round tower, the wall curving in slightly, and then turn- 
ing outward again in the form of a dice-box, so that the defenders on the 
top might the better protect the base. It is formed of rough stones, se- 
lected with care, and laid in courses or circles, with much compactness, 
but without cement of any kind. The tower has never, to appearance, 
had roofing of any sort : a fire was made in the centre of the space which 
it incloses, and originally the building was probably little more than a 
wall drawn as a sort of screen around the great council fire of the tribe. 
But, although the means or ingenuity of the builders did not extend so 
far as to provide a roof, they supplied the want by constructing apart- 
ments in the interior of the walls of the tower itself. The circumvalla- 
tion formed a double inclosure, the inner side of which was, in fact, two 
feet or three feet distant from the other, and connected by a concentric 
range of long fiat stones, thus forming a series of concentric rings or 
stories of various heights, rising to the top of the tower. Each of these 
stories or galleries has four windows, facing directly to the points of the 
compass, and rising, of course, regularly above each other. These four 
perpendicular ranges of windows admitted air, and, the fire being kin- 
dled, heat, or smoke at least, to each of the galleries. The access from 
gallery to gallery is equally primitive. A path, on the principle of an 
inclined plane, turns round and round the building like a screw, and 
gives access to the different stories, intersecting each of them in its 
turn, and thus gradually rising to the top of the wall of the tower. On 
the outside there are no windows ; and I may add that an inclosure of a 
square, or sometimes a round, form gave the inhabitants of the burgh an 
opportunity to secure any sheep or cattle which they might possess. 

Such is the general architecture of that very early period when the 
Northmen swept the seas, and brought to their rude houses, such as I 
have described them, the plunder of polished nations. In Zetland there 
are several scores of these burghs, occupying in every case capes, head- 
lands, islets, and similar places of advantage singularly well chosen. I 
remember the remains of one upon an island in a small lake near Ler- 
wick, which at high tide communicates with the sea, the access to which 
is very ingenious, by means of a causeway or dike, about three or four 
inches under the surface of the water. This causeway makes a sharp 
angle in its approach to the burgh. The inhabitants, doubtless, were 
well acquainted with this, but strangers, who might approach in a hos- 
tile manner, and were ignorant of the curve of the causeway, would 
probably plunge into the lake, which is six or seven feet in depth at the 
least. This must have been the device of some Vauban or Cohorn of 
those early times. 

The style of these buildings evinces that the architect possessed neither 
the art of using lime or cement of any kind, nor the skill to throw an 
arch, construct a roof, or erect a stair ; and yet, with all this ignorance, 
showed great ingenuity in selecting the situation of burghs, and regu- 
lating the access to them, as well as neatness and regularity in the 
erection, since the buildings themselves show a style of advance in the 


492 


NOTES 


arts scarcely consistent with the ignorance of so many of the principal 
branches of architectural knowledge. 

I have always thought that one of the most curious and valuable ob- 
jects of antiquaries has been to trace the progress of society by the ef- 
forts made in early ages to improve the rudeness of their first expedi- 
ents, until they either approach excellence, or, as is most frequently the 
case, are supplied by new and fundamental discoveries, which supersede 
both the earlier and ruder system and the improvements which have 
been ingrafted upon it. For example, if we conceive the recent discovery 
of gas to be so much improved and adapted to domestic use as to super- 
sede all other modes of producing domestic light, we can already sup- 
pose, some centuries afterwards, the heads of a whole Society of Anti- 
quaries half turned by the discovery of a pair of patent snuffers, and by 
the learned theories which would be brought forward to account for the 
form and purpose of so singular an implement. 

Following some such principle, I am inclined to regard the singular 
Castle of Coningsburgh — I mean the Saxon part of it — as a step in ad- 
vance from the rude architecture, if it deserves the name, which must 
have been common to the Saxons as to other Northmen. The builders 
had attained the art of using cement, and of roofing a building — great 
improvements on the original burgh. But in the round keep, a shape 
only seen in the most ancient castles, the chambers excavated in the 
thickness of the walls and buttresses, the difiSculty by which access 
is gained from one story to those above it, Coningsburgh still retains 
the simplicity of its origin, and shows by what slow degrees man pro- 
ceeded from occupying such rude and inconvenient lodgings as were 
afforded by the galleries of the Castle of Mousa to the more splendid ac- 
commodations of the Norman castles, with all their stern and Gothic 
graces. 

I am ignorant if these remarks are new, or if they will be confirmed 
by closer examination ; but I think that, on a hasty observation, Conings- 
burgh offers means of curious study to those who may wish to trace the 
history of architecture back to the times preceding the Norman Con- 
quest. 

It would be highly desirable that a cork model should be taken of the 
Castle of Mousa, as it cannot be well understood by a plan. 

The Castle of Coningsburgh is thus described : — 

‘The castle is large, the outer walls standing on a pleasant ascent 
from the river, but much overtopt by an high hill, on which the town 
stands, situate at the head of a rich and magnificent vale, formed by an 
amphitheatre of woody hills, in which flows the gentle Don. Near the 
castle is a barrow, said to be Hengist’s tomb. The entrance is flanked 
to the left by a round tower, with a sloping base, and there are several 
similar in the outer wall ; the entrance has piers of a gate, and on the 
east side the ditch and bank is double and very steep. On the top of the 
churchyard wall is a tombstone, on which are cut in high relief two 
ravens, or such-like birds. On the south side of the churchyard lies an 
ancient stone, ridged like a coffin, on which is carved a man on horse- 
back ; and another man with a shield encountering a vast winged ser- 
pent, a man bearing a shield behind him. It was probably one of the 
rude crosses not uncommon in churchyards in this county. See it en- 
graved on the plate of crosses for this volume, plate xiv. fig. 1. The 
name of Conninesburgh, by which this castle goes in the old editions of 
the Britannia, would lead one to suppose it the residence of the Saxon 
kings. It afterwards belonged to King Harold. The Conqueror be- 
stowed it on William de Warren, with all its privileges and jurisdiction, 
which are said to have been over twenty-eight towns. At the corner of 
the area, which is of an irregular form, stands the great tower, or keep, 
placed on a small hill of its own dimensions, on which lie six vast pro- 
jecting buttresses, ascending in a steep direction to prop and support 


NOTES 


493 


the building, and continued upwards up the sides as turrets. The tower 
within forms a complete circle, twenty-one feet in diameter, the walls 
fourteen feet thick. The ascent into the tower is by an exceeding deep 
flight of steep steps, four feet and a half wide, on the south side leading 
to a low doorway, over which is a circular arch crossed by a great tran- 
som stone. Within this door is the staircase which ascends strait through 
the thickness of the wall, not communicating with the room on the first 
floor, in whose centre is the opening to the dungeon. Neither of these 
lower rooms is lighted except from a hole in the floor of the third story ; 
the room in which, as well as in that above it, is finished with compact 
smooth stonework, both having chimney-pieces, with an arch resting on 
triple clustered pillars. In the third story, or guard-chamber, is a small 
recess with a loophole, probably a bedchamber, and in that floor above 
a niche for a saint or holy- water pot. Mr. King imagines this a Saxon 
castle of the first ages of the Heptarchy. Mr. Watson thus describes it. 
‘ From the first floor to the second story (third from the ground) is a way 
by a stair in the wall five feet wide. The next staircase is approached 
by a ladder, and ends at the fourth story from the ground. Two yards 
from the door, at the head of this stair, is an opening nearly east, ac- 
cessible by treading on the ledge of the wall, which diminishes eight 
inches each story ; and this last opening leads into a room or chapel ten 
feet by twelve, and fifteen or sixteen high, arched with freestone, and 
supported by small circular columns of the same, the capitals and arches 
Saxon. It has an east window, and on each side in the wall, about four 
feet from the ground, a stone bason, with a hole and iron pipe to convey 
the water into or through the wall. This chapel is one of the buttresses, 
but no sign of it without, for even the window, though large within, is 
only a long narrow loophole, scarcely to be seen without. On the left 
side of this chapel is a small oratory, eight by six in the thickness of the 
wall, with a niche in the wall, and enlightened by a like loophole. The 
fourth stair from the ground, ten feet west from the chapel door, leads 
to the top of the tower through the thickness of the wall, which at top is 
but three yards. Each story is about fifteen feet high, so that the tower 
will be seventy-five feet from the ground. The inside forms a circle, 
whose diameter may be about twelve feet. The well at the bottom of the 
dungeon is filled with stones.’ — Gough’s Edition of Camden’s Britannia. 
Second Edition, vol. iii. pp. 267, 268. 

Note 28.— Raising of Athelstane, p. 448 

The resuscitation of Athelstane has been much criticised, as too vio- 
lent a breach of probability, even for a work of such fantastic character. 
It was a tour-de-forcey to which the Author was compelled to have re- 
course by the vehement entreaties of his friend and printer, who was 
inconsolable on the Saxon being conveyed to the tomb. 



GLOSSARY 


OP 

WORDS, PHRASES, AND ALLUSIONS. 


Agraffe, a clasp, consist- 
ing of a hook and a 
ring 

Alderman, or ealdor- 
MAN, was in ancient 
Saxon times a noble- 
man of the highest 
rank 

Aldhelm op Malmsbury, 
a renowned scholar 
and church-builder of 
the 7th century 
Arber, the pluck of a 
deer 

Arblast, cross-bow 
Arret, a decree 
Arthur’s Oven, a re- 
markable Roman build- 
ing in Larbert parish, 
Stirlingshire, demolish- 
ed in 1743 

Asper, a small silver 
Turkish coin -=• 1 12th 
penny 

Assoilzie, absolve 
Auferte malum ex vobis. 
Remove the evil from 
among you 

> Avised, apprised, in- 
formed 

Baca, vale op, mentioned 
in Psalm Ixxxiv. 6 
Bandeau, a narrow band 
or fillet 

Bartholinus, Thomas, 
author of Antiquitates 
Danicce (1689) 

Basta 1 Enough I no mat- 
ter 

Beccapico, a kind of 
black-cap 
Beet, feed (a fire) 
Benedicite, mes filz. 
Bless you, my children 
Biggin, a child’s cap 
Black Sanctus, a bur- 
lesque of the Sanctus 
of the Roman Missal ; a 
tumultuous uproar 


Boabdil, king of Granada 
and king of Malaga, 
both inventions as re- 
gards the period of the 
novel 

Borrow, or borgh, bail, 
suretyship, pledge 
Bow-hand, the left hand, 
hence wide of the mark 
Bromholme, on the east 
coast of Norfolk, where 
a priory was built early 
in the 12th century 
Brown-bill, a sort of 
halberd,painted brown, 
and carried by soldiers 
and watchmen 
Bruising - match, prize- 
fight 

Bruit, rumour, report 
Bull - beggar, a bogie, 
spectre 

Burrel, or BOREL, coarse 
cloth, frieze 

Byzant, abyzantine gold 
coin, varying in value 
from 10s. to £1 

Cabalist, one versed in 
secret sciences 
Cap-a-pie, from head to 
foot 

Capul, or CAPLE, a horse, 
working horse 
Cardecu, old French sil- 
ver coin = Is. 6d. to 2s. 
VAd. 

Cave, adsum. Beware, I 
am here 

Chamfron, frontlet or 
head-piece for an armed 
horse 

Charnwood, a forest in 
the north of Leicester- 
shire 

Chian wine, wine of 
Chios, an island of Asia 
Minor ; it was cele- 
brated among the an- 
cient Greeks 

495 


Clifford’s Gate, in Clif- 
ford’s Tower, beside the 
castle at York, but it 
did not exist in Rich- 
ard’s reign 

Clipt within the ring, 
mediaeval method of 
sweating coinage 

Clout, a pin in the centre 
of a target fixing it to 
the butt 

Cohorn, or C o e h o r n, 
Baron van, called the 
Dutch Vauban, a skilful 
military engineer of the 
17th century 

Commendator, holder of 
an ecclesiastical bene- 
fice, as an addition to 
one already held or in 
temporary trust 

COMPOSTELLA, SCALLOP 

shell of, the symbol of 
St. James the Greater, 
whose shrine was at 
Compostella, 80 miles 
from Corunna in Spain 

CoNFiTEOR, I confess 

CONINGSBURGH, Or ku~ 
ning's (cyning's) burg^ 
or honing's 6wrflr=king’s 
castle 

Cri de guerre, a war-cry 

Cross, a coin stamped 
with a cross 

Crowd, or Crowth, a 
species of violin ; Crow- 
der, a fiddler 

CuREE, the portion of the 
deer given to the 
hounds 

CuRTAL FRIAR, lower Or- 
der of friar, wearing a 
short gown or habit 

Cut and long tail, of 
every kind 

Cypress, a kind of crape 

De commilitonibus Tem- 
PLi, etc. (p. 349), con- 


496 


f 


GLOSSAEY 


cerning the brethren in 
anus of tlie holy com- 
munity of the Temple 
who frequent the com- 
pany of misguided wo- 
men for the gratifica- 
tion of their fleshly 
lusts. 

De Lectione Literarum, 
on the reading of letters 
Demi-volte, a half-turn 
De profundis clamavi, 
Out of the depths have 
I called 

Derrino - DO, desperate 
courage 

Despardieux ! By God 1 
Destrier, war-horse 
Detur digniori. Let it be 
given to him who is 
more worthy 
Deus paciat salvam, etc. 
(p. 315), God keep your 
reverence safe 
Deus Vobiscum, God be 
with you, a priest 
Dortour, or dorter, the 
dormitory of a monas- 
tery 

Draff, refuse, hogs’ wash 
Dragon op Wantley, a 
monster slain by one 
More of More Hall. See 
Percy’s Reliques of An- 
cient Poetry 

Drinc hael, I drink your 
health 

Dunghills, low-bred fel- 
lows 

Eadmer, a monk of Can- 
terbury, who wrote a 
History of England and 
lives of Anselm and 
other distinguished En- 
glish churchmen 
El jerrid, a javelin used 
in Oriental games, es- 
pecially in mock-fights 
on horseback 
En croupe, behind the 
saddle 

Epopceia, the ground- 
work or story of an 
epic 

Erictho. See Lucan’s 
w'itch 

Estrada, a slightly raised 
platform 

Et vobis ; qd.«:so, etc. (p. 
235), And with you ; O 
most reverend master, 
I beseech you, in your 
mercy 

Eum.®:us, the swineherd of 
Odysseus. See Odyss. 

XV. 

Exceptis excipiendis, 
except what is to be 
excepted 

ExCOMMUNICABO VOS, I 


shall excommunicate 
you 

Faire le moulinet, to 
twirl about, flourish a 
quarter-staff. 

FaITES VOS DEVOIRS, 
PREUX CHEVALIERS, Do 

your duty, brave 
knights 

Fetter-key, key of the 
fetters 

Fiat voluntas tda. Thy 
will be done 

Flambing, basting roast- 
ed meat 

Fleurs-de-lis, heraldic 
lilies 

Flints, men of the right 
sort 

Flox-silk, floss-silk 
Folkpree and sacless, 
a lawful freeman 
Fox-earths, fox-holes 
Frackest, boldest, read- 
iest 

Freedom op the rules, 
freedom granted to a 
Scots advocate to plead 
at the English bar 
Fructus Temporum, The 
Chronicles of England 
with the fruit of Times, 
called The Chronicle of 
St. Alban's, also Cax- 
ton's Chronicle 
Fustian (words), ranting 
bombastic jargon 
Fusty bandias, thirsty 
bandiers or comrades 

Gaberdine, a Jew’s robe 
or gown 

Gare le corbeau. Beware 
of the raven 

Garland, a collection of 
ballads or short poems 
Gauds, flimsy ornaments, 
gimcracks 

Gelidas leto, etc. (p. 
xxi). To various carca- 
ses by turns she flies, 
And, griping with her 
gory fingers, tries, Till 
one of perfect organs 
can be found. And 
fibrous lungs uninjur’d 
by a wound. (Rowe) 
Glaive, a sword, spear 
Gospel op St. Nicodemus, 
an ancient spurious 
writing, called also the 
Acts of Pilate 
Grand Cyrus, a long- 
winded romance in 10 
vols. (1649-53) by Mdlle. 
de Scud^ri 

Guilder, a coin worth Is. 
8d. 

Gymmal, gimmal or ge- 


MEL ring, a sort of 
double ring 

Hacquebute, or hackbut, 
harquebus, a primi- 
tive firearm 

Hacqueton, or acton,' a 
quilted vest worn under 
the coat of mail 
Hafling, the half of a 
silver penny 

Hengist, or Hengst, 
means stallion, hence 
the w'hite horse (p. 413) 
as the Saxon ensign 
Hership, pillage, ma- 
rauding 

Hertha, more correctly 
Nerthus, the goddess 
Earth of the ancient 
Slavs of Prussia 
Hexhamshire, formerly 
a county palatine, gov- 
erned by the bishops of 
Hexham 

Hilding, base, cowardly 
Hog dear to St. ANTHONy 
Pigs were under his 
special care 

Houri, a beauty of the 
Mohammedan Paradise 
Humming, causing a hum- 
ming in the head, be- 
cause metheglin, and 
so beer, was thought to 
make the head hum 
like the hive from 
W’hich the honey of the 
metheglin was taken 
Hyre-men, or Hireman, a 
retainer, hired servant 

Iprin, or Inpern, the hell 
of the Old Saxons 
II Bondocani. See The 
Robber Caliph ; or, Ad- 
ventures of Haroun Al- 
raschid loith the Prin- 
cess of Persia and the 
Beautiful Zutalbe, in 
H. Weber’s Tales of the 
East (1812), i. 475. 

Inch Merrin, or Murren, 
an island in Loch 
Lomond 

Inter res sacras, ac- 
counted sacred 

Karum pie, a pie contain- 
ing nightingales and 
beccaficoes (blackcaps) 

Lac acidum, sour milk ; 

LAC DULCE, sweet milk 
Laissez aller ! Let go 1 
away ! 

Largesse, a gift 
La Royne de la Beault6 
ET DES Amours, the 
Queen of Beauty and of 
Love 


GLOSSARY 


497 


Latro Famosus, a noted 
robber 

Laureate, Robt. Southey 
Le don d ’amoureuse 
MERC i, the highest favor 
that love can bestow 
Lee-gage, the safe or 
sheltered side 
L’enfant GATf:, the spoil- 
ed child 

Liard, small French coin, 
current after the 14th 
century one-third of 
a silver penny English 
Logan, John, an eloquent 
Scottish preacher, who 
was dismissed (1786) for 
intemperance 
Lucan’s witch, Erictho, 
in Pharsalia, Bk. vi. 

Mahound, a contempt- 
uous name for Maho- 
met. Mahound and Ter- 
magaunt figured as 
devils or drubbing-boys 
in some of the mediaeval 
mystery-plays 
Mail, baggage, trunk 
Malvoisie, malmsey, 
sweet wine 

Mammock, a shapeless 
piece, fragment 
Manciple, a steward, pur- 
veyor 

Mancus, an Anglo-Saxon 
coin=about 2s 6d. 
Mangonel, military en- 
gine for throwing 
stones 

Manus imponere in 
SERVOS Domini, to lay 
hands jon the servants 
of the Lord 

Maravedi, copper coin 
=less than a farthing 
M a R o Q u I N , Morocco, 
goat’s leather 
Matilda, daughter of 
Malcolm Canmore and 
Margaret, married 
Henry I. of England, 
and was the mother of 
the Empress Matilda, 
with whom the text ob- 
viously confounds her 
Maugre, despite 
Mell, meddle, busy one- 
self 

Merk, or MARK, old coin, 
worth 13s, 4d. ; a weight 
=generally 8 ounces 
Mista, or MIST, one of the 
Valkyrie or Battle 
Maidens 

Monk of Croydon, cor- 
rected Croyland or 
Crowland, was Abbot 
Ingulphus (1085-1109;, 
reputed author of a 
History of the Monas- 


tery of CrotcZand, which 
has ‘been shown, since 
Scott wrote, to be a 
13th or 14th century 
fiction 

Mort, a bugle-call at the 
death of a stag 
Mort de ma vie I Death 
of my life 1 a strong 
affirmative 

Mots, notes upon the 
bugle, distinguished in 
old treatises on hunt- 
ing, not by musical 
characters, but by writ- 
ten words 

Mount Carmel, monas- 
tery OF, the mother 
monastery of the Car- 
melite order, on the 
coast of Palestine 
Mount joye St. Denis, a 
war-cry of the French 
Crusaders 

M’Pherson, author of the 
Songs of Ossian 
Muscadine, or muscadel, 
a sweet wine made 
from muscat grapes 

Nebulo quidam, good-for- 
nothing fellow, scamp 
Needwood, a royal forest 
beside the Trent, Staf- 
fordshire and Derby- 
shire 

NoMBLES, or NUMBLES, the 
entrails of a deer 
Nook (of pasty), a quar- 
ter or triangular cut of 
pie 

Oubliette, a dungeon, 
deep pit or shaft in a 
dungeon 

Outrecuidance, inso- 
lence, presumption 
Over (Jod’s forbode ! 
Quite impossible 1 God 
forbid ! 

Par amours, illicitly, un- 
lawfully 

Parnell’s Tale. A Fairy 
Tale, in the Ancient 
English Style, by Tho- 
mas Parnell, a minor 
Queen Anne poet 
Patrico, beggars’ name 
for their hedge-priest 
or orator 

Pax vobiscum. Peace be 
with you 
Paynim, pagan 
Pennant, Thomas, a keen- 
ly observant naturalist 
and traveller of the 
18th century 

Periapt, a charm against 
disease 

PhINEAS, or PHINEHAS,the 


grandson of Aaron. See 
Numbers xxv. 7, 8. 
PouNCET box, a box con- 
taining perfumes 
Propined, promised 
Propter necessitatem, 
etc. (p. 338), in case of 
necessity and to drive 
away the cold 
Put to the horne, de- 
clared a rebel 
Pyet, magpie 

Quare fremuerunt 
GENTEs ? Why do the 
heathen rage ? 

Rabbi Jacob ben Tudela. 
Possibly a confused 
allusion to Benjamin of 
Tudela, a 12th century 
Spanish Jew, and re- 
nowned traveller 
Rascaille, base, ignoble 
Real, a Spanish silver 
coin = 2J4d. 

Recheat, a signal to the 
hounds to return from 
following a false scent 
Rescousse, rescue 
Rex delectabitur pul- 

CHRITUDINE TUA, The 
king shall rejoice in thy 
beauty 

Rheno, a reindeer skin ; 
hence any piece of skin 
or fur clothing 
Ring, clipt within the 
See Clipt within the 
ring 

Rollo, or Hrolf the. 
Ganger, the ancestor 
of the Normans 
Rote, a sort of guitar, or 
hurdy-gurdy, the 
strings of which were 
managed by a wheel 
{rota) 

Rules, freedom of the 
See Freedom of the 
rules 

Runlet, a small barrel 

Sa’, sain, bless 
Sacring bell, small bell 
used at high mass 
St. Christopher, the pa- 
tron saint of foresters ; 
an Image of the saint 
worn as an ornament 
St. Dunstan, Saxon saint 
and archbishop of Can- 
terbury, 10th century 
St. Hilda of Whitby, a 
Northumbrian abbess 
of the 7th century, fa- 
mous for her saintly 
life 

St. Nicholas’s clerks, 
robbers, highwaymen 
St. Nicodemus, See Gos- 
pel of St. Nicodemus 


498 


GLOSSAKY 


St. Omer, Godfrey de, 
more generally written 
Geoffroi de St. Adh6- 
mar 

Sanctus, black. See 
Black sanctus 
Scallop shell. See Com- 
postella 

SCLAVEYN, or SCLAVONIAN, 
a pilgrim’s cloak, re- 
sembling a garment 
worn in Slavonian coun- 
tries , 

Semper percutiatur, etc. 
(p. B6J)), The ravening 
lion is ever to be beaten 
down 

Sendal, light silk stuff 
SiGiL, seal 

SiMARRE, or siMAR, a Wo- 
man’s loose light robe 
SlMNEL BREAD, a rich 
sweet cake, made of 
fine fiour, offered as a 
gift at Christmas and 
Easter, and especially 
the Fourth Sunday in 
Lent (Simnel Sunday) 

Si QUIS, SUADENTE DIA- 
BOLO, If any one at the 
persuasion of the devil 
Sir Bevis, of Hampton or 
Southampton, the hero 
of a mediaeval romance 
Sir Guy, of Warwick, the 
hero of a mediaeval 
romance 

Sir John Oldcastle, an 
Elizabethan play re- 
jected from Shake- 
speare’s dramas ; as- 
signed to Thomas Hey- 
wood 

Skogula, or Skogul, one 
of the Valkyrie or 
Battle Maidens 
Slot-hound, a sleuth- 
hound, blood-hound 

SOLDAN OF TrEBIZOND, 
sultan or emperor of a 
state on the southern 
shores of the Black Sea, 
founded early in the 
13th century 

SOLERE or SOLLAR cham- 
ber, a garret or upper 
chamber 

Soul-scat, a funeral due 
paid to the church 
Springal, a youth 


Stock-fish, dried fish, 
generally cod 
Stool-ball, an old Eng- 
lish game, something 
resembling cricket, 
played by women 
Strike, first (of ale), 
brewed with the full 
measure (strike) of 
malt 

Strike pantnere, cut 
open the wine-skin 
( pantoneria), and so 
broach the cask. ‘ Pant- 
nere ’ may be a slang 
corruption of ‘ partner.’ 
Surquedv, insolence, pre- 
sumption. 

Tack, lease 

Te igitur, the service- 
book, on which oaths 
were sworn 

Theow and esne, thrall 
and bondsman 
Thrall, a serf, bondsman 
Toll-dish (miller’s), the 
dish in which he re- 
ceived his fees for 
grinding corn ; hence, 
the head 

Totty, tottery, unsteady 
Transmew, to transform, 
change 

Tregetour, conjuror 
Trinketing, dealing in, 
intriguing 

Trowl, to push, pass 
Twelfth Night, the eve 
of the Epiphany, which 
falls twelve days after 
Christmas 

Underlie, to be respon- 
sible for 

Unhouseled, not having 
received the eucharist 
Urus, a wild ox 
Ut fugiantur oscula. 
Let all kissing be 
avoided 

Ut LEO, etc. (p. 363), Let 
the lion always be bea- 
ten down ; cf. Note 25, 
p. 490 

Vail, to lower, doff 
Vair, a kind of fur, be- 
lieved to have been that 
of the squirrel 
Vale tandem, non im- 


MEMOR mei. Farewell, 
then, and do not forget 
me 

Vert and venison, the 
forest trees and the 
game amongst them 
Vie privee, private life 
Vinsauf, Geoffrey de, 
an English writer of the 
12 th century, wrote 
Itinerary of Richard^ 
King of the English^ in 
the Holy Land 

ViNUM LiETIFICAT, etC. 
(p. 368). Wine maketh 
glad the heart of man 
ViRELAi, a type of Old 
French short poem 
VoRTiGERN, a Christian 
British prince, who in- 
vited over Hengist the 
Saxon, and married his 
daughter Rowena 

Waes hael. To your 
health 

Wantley, dragon of. See 
Dragon of Wantley 
Warlock, wizard; North- 
ern Warlock, Sir Wal- 
ter Scott 

Wassail, ale or wine 
spiced ; a health, toast 
Wastel cakes, cakes 
made of the finest white 
wheat fiour 

Watling Street, an old 
Roman road, running 
from Dover, through 
London and York, to 
the neighbourhood of 
New -Castle-on-Tyne 
White horse ensign. See 
Hengist 

Whittle, a large knife 
Wimple, a veil or hood 
Witenagemote, the An- 
glo-Saxon great council 
-or parliament 
Woden, Odin, the chief 
god of ancient Teutonic 
mythology 

Zecchin, or sequin, a 
Venetian gold coin = 
about 9s. 4d. 

Zernebock, or Cherni- 
bog, the Black God or 
Devil of the Wends and 
1 Prussian Slavs 








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